Pain
by JAJJAJ
Summary: Once again the SGC ignores Daniel's instincts, and this time Daniel and Sam pay the price.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Pain

**Genre: **Hurt/Comfort; Angst

**Season:** Four, maybe. It's a Season Four type of story.

**Warnings:** none

**Spoilers:** Possible small ones throughout.

**Summary: **Once again the SGC ignores Daniel's instincts and, once again, Daniel pays the price.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Stargate or any of its characters. This story is for entertainment purposes only, not for profit.

**AN: **This is a revised version of Pain, because there was an alternate plot that I just couldn't get out of my head!

Prologue

Daniel didn't even bother trying to pull himself off the dirt floor this time when they unbarred the door to his cell. Another shock of pain ran through him, starting in his gut and spreading outward to his limbs, and he let out a sob as his muscles spasmed. He was long past caring if they heard him cry; he was long past anything but hanging on until they came. If they came.

As if hearing his thoughts, the man who'd opened his cell came and squatted down on the dirt floor by Daniel's filthy, trembling form and said, "They won't negotiate, your friends. We thought they valued you more than that. They know what you suffer, yet they leave you here." The man made a tsk-ing sound, then mused, as if to himself, "Perhaps we should have kept the woman instead."

And then he left, barring the door behind him.

Chapter 1

_Fifteen hours earlier_

The Polistian minister's expression seemed to change as Daniel sipped at the sour but not altogether unpleasant drink; although the man's smile remained fixed, something dark and wary flashed behind his eyes before they took on what Daniel could only describe to himself as, what, studied nonchalance?

Hardly yet conscious that something was wrong, Daniel automatically sought out his teammates. Teal'c and Jack stood at the other end of the room chatting—well, Jack was chatting, anyway—with several dignitaries, the ceremonial head of the Polistian defense force among them, and Sam was a few yards away involved in a seemingly intense discussion with the minister of science. Daniel watched as a man with a tray approached Sam, who reached for a drink. The man turned the tray smoothly as she reached, steering one goblet into her grasp as the Polistians around her casually grabbed drinks of their own from the other side of the tray. With two goblets left on the tray, the man headed directly for Jack and Teal'c, while a young woman handed drinks to some others in between.

Daniel narrowed his eyes. Separate drinks? He looked back at Minister Gahry, who still had the same frozen smile on his face and then down at the drink in his hand and turned back to Sam, who was already sipping from her glass.

A voice in his head told him he was about to royally screw up any chance at relations with the Polistians, never mind access to their seemingly miraculous knowledge of medicinal herbs, but a more urgent voice drowned it out.

"Sam!" he shouted, more loudly than he'd intended. "Don't drink that!"

Sam, startled, pulled the goblet from her lips and looked back at him.

"Daniel?" she asked.

Conversation stopped and everyone in the room stared at him. Teal'c drew himself up as if ready to take on an army and Jack's hands grasped air as he reached in vain for the P-90 that he'd left outside the door with the rest of their weapons.

Daniel looked around feeling suddenly foolish.

"Just don't drink anymore yet, please, Sam."

"Is something wrong, Dr. Jackson?" Minister Gahry asked.

"I'm not sure," Daniel said. "Is there a reason we are being served separate drinks?"

Sam looked at the drink in her hand and back at Daniel.

The minister stared at Daniel and then laughed, and after a beat several other Polistians joined in.

"Ah, once again you have proved how observant you are, Dr. Jackson. Yes, you and your team are being served separate drinks. We've discovered that our traditional _vinio_ is very hard on most travelers through the Great Circle, so many years ago we started serving a less, shall we say, potent, version. I hope you aren't offended." Again Gahry smiled, but, Daniel thought, the smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

Daniel noticed Jack relaxing his pose, and he saw Sam give a weak smile.

"Well, that makes sense," Jack said, reaching for one of the drinks that had been brought over as Gahry talked. The waiter offered a goblet to Teal'c, but Teal'c, who remained watchful, declined to take it.

"Uh, hold on a second, Jack, Sam," Daniel cautioned. Jack gave him a long-suffering look, but, Daniel noticed, he didn't drink.

Daniel wasn't surprised at Jack's impatience. Before they'd returned to finalize the treaty, the colonel had already expressed aggravation at Daniel's concerns about the Polistians, particularly his suspicion that they were, despite their claims to the contrary, a society striving to return to their days of military glory. All the signs were there. Yet, "what difference could it possibly make, Daniel?" Jack had asked. "We aren't giving them military technology, unless you can think of a military use for a tractor." And Daniel had to admit that that was true, that the Polistians, despite their many questions about Earth weapons and military tech, had not seemed particularly upset when SG-9 had offered them only agricultural technology in return for their medicinal knowledge and herbs.

But wasn't anyone else concerned that the people they were signing a treaty with were hiding something, that they were _lying_? Daniel had asked.

Apparently not, and so here they were, SG-1 instead of SG-9 at the Polistian's request, in the city's ornately decorated Great Hall, at a reception celebrating the signing of the agreement. And, here, once again, Daniel was fairly certain, they were being lied to.

"No offense taken, Minister, and I hope none is given," Daniel continued finally, "but your explanation has reminded me that perhaps we have been a little . . . rash . . . in imbibing so readily of food and drink that may not suit our slightly different anatomy."

"But certainly, Dr. Jackson, you are being overcautious?" a tall, portly Polistian—Counseler Praga— asked, with no guile that Daniel could detect. "After all, this is your team's second visit and I believe the fourth visit altogether by a team from Earth, and no one has yet become ill from the food?"

"He has a point," Sam said, with an almost undetectable nervousness in her voice.

"Yes, that's true," Daniel admitted. "So far everything has been fine, but. . . ."

"But. . . ?" Jack prompted.

Daniel took a deep breath and exhaled. Jack was so going to kill him.

"But . . ," Daniel continued, looking Jack straight in the eyes, ". . . but I'm afraid the fact that others have become ill from the drink here mandates that we should institute Rule 38 protocols concerning off-world substances and return to the SGC for a complete physical exam."

Jack, to give him credit, didn't blink.

"Rule 38 protocols," he repeated flatly, looking back at Daniel.

"Yes," Daniel said, steadily. "Rule 38."

Jack held Daniel's look for a moment longer and then sighed, glancing from Teal'c to Sam. Sam looked as if she were about to say something, but then closed her mouth and looked again from her drink to Daniel's.

"Right. O.K., people," Jack said, "pack it up. Minister, I'm afraid Dr. Jackson is correct on this one. I'm sure we'll be back as soon as we can. Right, Daniel?"

There was an edge to the tone of the last question, but Daniel would deal with that later. By some miracle, Jack was actually going along with him on this one, and he didn't want to waste any time in getting out of there. If he was right, the Polistians were up to something, and it wasn't good.

"Right, yes, right," he said, answering Jack, and turned back to Minister Gahry. "I offer sincere apologies on behalf of SG-1 and Earth, Minister, and I hope once we straighten this little problem out, we can return and continue our promising cultural exchange."

As other Polistians around shook their heads and murmured _Of course not's_ and _Oh, no, not at all's_ the minister gave a smile, but to Daniel it didn't look friendly. Rather it looked as if he'd just eaten something repulsive.

Daniel suppressed a slight shiver. He nodded at the minister and Counselor Praga and turned to go. Sam fell in beside him and they joined Teal'c and Jack by the door. The Polistians in the room made no move to follow, not even to escort them to the Gate as was their usual habit. They just stood, silently now, and watched them go.

Jack gave him a sideways glance, and Daniel knew that, finally, Jack was reading the same weird vibe in the room. Still, as they left the building and retrieved their weapons without a problem, Daniel's own certainty began to fade.

Jack placed the strap of his P-90 around his neck and patted it unconsciously, as if it were a dog. Obviously feeling more secure with his weapon in hand, he looked at Daniel and queried quietly, eyebrows raised, "Rule 38?"

Daniel shrugged, looking back through the door to make sure they were out of earshot of their hosts. "It seemed better than asking if they were trying to poison us."

"There is that," Jack agreed.

"Daniel," Sam said, tentatively, as they started to walk through the bustling town toward the nearby Stargate, "are you sure. . . ?" She let the question hang.

"No," Daniel admitted. "I'm not. But there was something about the way Gahry watched me drink, and the whole excuse for the separate drinks. . . ."

Jack stopped short as Daniel talked, almost causing Sam to walk into him.

He turned to look at Daniel. "Wait, you already drank the whatever, the stuff?"

Daniel gave an unhappy smile. "Yes, unfortunately. I think Sam did too, didn't you, Sam? So believe me, there is no one who hopes I'm wrong more than I do."

"Carter?"

"Just a sip, sir, before Daniel stopped me"

"Crap," Jack said. "O.K., let's pick up the pace a little. I don't know if there was anything in the drinks, but Daniel is right, something is definitely a little off here."

"I concur," Teal'c said. "The Polistian ministers fail to approach us but follow at a distance. This is very unlike their previous actions. I believe the people of the city are aware that something is amiss as well, since they too seem to go to great pains to stay well away."

"I suppose it could be that our behavior—my behavior—insulted them," Daniel said, with a reasonableness he didn't feel. Yet as he spoke Daniel saw a mother pull her child from their path and shoo him inside. "Or maybe not," he added.

As they reached the DHD, they all, even Teal'c, breathed a sigh of relief. Daniel glanced back at the Polistians, wondering if they would approach and see them off with their usual ceremony, but the six men who had followed remained several yards away. He nodded to Minister Gahry and said, "Minister, we thank you for your patience in this matter, and we will contact you as soon as we follow our procedure."

"We are certain of that, Dr. Jackson," Gahry said, and this time there was no questioning the threat in his voice.

"Shit," Sam murmured under her breath.

"Dial it up, Daniel. Now," Jack said, and he, Sam and Teal'c turned to face the Polistians, hands on their weapons.

Daniel hit four symbols rapidly and was reaching for the fifth when it started. He felt a sudden chill and then a burning sensation in his limbs and then a searing pain in his gut. He gasped and went to his knees, then tried to pull himself back up to keep dialing, but he couldn't make his legs work.

He heard Jack say, "Daniel, what's the ? . . . Crap. Daniel! Carter, dial us home!"

He felt Sam step up next to him. "It'll be O.K., Daniel, we're getting you out of here," she said quietly as she reached over him for the DHD.

Daniel tried to respond, but another spasm of pain shot through him and he cried out, then slid the rest of the way to the ground and curled in on himself.

Sam hit the last three symbols and seconds later Daniel heard the whoosh of the event horizon.

"Teal'c," Jack shouted out, and a moment later Daniel felt Teal'c's strong arms lifting him off the ground. But before they could move for the Gate, another voice boomed out.

"I wouldn't leave I were you," the voice said. "Not if you wish Dr. Jackson to live."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"_I wouldn't leave if I were you. Not if you want Dr. Jackson to live."_

_Crap, crap and double crap_, Jack thought, shifting his weapon in the direction of the arrogant voice. Its owner, dressed in full military uniform, the first they'd seen on the planet, stepped out from behind the six dignitaries who had followed them to the Gate. Four other soldiers pushed through behind him. They all wore black, with red, lightning-bolt insignia, and except for their leader, they all had long, bayonet-like blades attached to some sort of handle. The weapons didn't look like any match for P-90s, but they were no doubt deadly enough.

Jack stared at the man who had spoken. The uniform was alien, but the stance and the manner were not. He might not have been there yet, but there was no doubt where the man was headed. Adolf Hitler, Idi Amin, Pol Pot, Saddam Hussein, Earth's recent history was littered with men like him. And even if Jack hadn't been able to see it himself, the reactions of the dignitaries as he stepped to the front would have clued him in. Except for Gahry, who seemed hard-put to contain his glee, those men—although they tried to hide it—were afraid. They may have been the ministers of the people of the planet, but this was the man in charge.

Nevertheless, it was Gahry who spoke next, his voice filled with satisfaction. "It would save us all time, and Dr. Jackson a distasteful end, if you would heed Marshal Lioss's advice, Colonel."

"It would save us all a lot of time if you would cut the crap and tell us what you want," Jack snarled.

"I believe that is obvious, _Colonel_," Lioss said, his disdain for Jack's title obvious. "You may have hoped that your patronizing attitude toward the great Polistian regime would go unnoticed, that your refusal to share your military technology and your knowledge of other worlds was not a grave insult to all who tread here and all who came before, but you were wrong. We will take what we need. In return, we will give you back your man's life.

"Go now and refuse our demands, and Dr. Jackson will die an agonizing death within three days. Leave Dr. Jackson here while we negotiate, and we can extend his life indefinitely, and even—" and here the bastard smiled, "—reduce his pain enough that he won't _wish_ to die. Once we have what we require, we will give him the antidote and return him to you. The choice is yours."

Son of a bitch, Jack thought, and it was all he could do to keep from squeezing the trigger and sending the martinet, Gahry and all of them to an early grave. "How about we try this instead," he said. "You give us the antidote now, and we don't come back here and blow your planet into the next galaxy."

Again the man smiled. He gestured to the town around him. "And kill all these innocents? And destroy the only hope of saving your teammate's life? I think I can call that bluff."

Before Jack could answer, he heard Teal'c shout his name and at the same time heard the sound of the staff weapon charging. He turned and saw seven or eight other soldiers approaching from the other side of the Gate. Teal'c was supporting Daniel's weight with one arm as Daniel struggled to keep on his feet, and a low moan escaped the archaeologist as Teal'c raised his staff with his other hand. Carter saw the men coming and stood sideways now, shifting her weapon back and forth between the two threats. Then movement came from either side and more soldiers stepped out from the shadows of the shops to their right and left.

They were surrounded.

"Colonel?" Carter asked, the tension vibrating in her voice.

"Move 'em back, Major," Jack ordered.

Carter nodded, and they both opened fire with short bursts from their P-90s, shooting up the dirt mere inches from the soldiers' feet. Behind him, Jack could hear Teal'c firing his staff. The soldiers jumped back, then held their ground.

Jack turned toward Lioss then and aimed directly for him. He thought he saw the man flinch, but he covered it well. "Call your men off. We're leaving." He had never been so ready to pull the trigger, and he knew the sadistic man in front of him could see it. So could the ministers, and they all, even Gahry, took a step away.

Jack read the silence and acted. Any hesitation would be fatal here. "Take him through, Teal'c," he said, even as dread for Daniel settled in the pit of his stomach. "Carter, you clear the Gate if they don't move."

There was no response, and he turned his head slightly to look in her direction.

"Major?"

"Yes, sir," she finally said, but it came out as more of a gasp. She was pointing her weapon toward the men who blocked the Gate, but she held her other arm to her stomach and looked as if she were having a hell of a time standing upright.

_Damn, _he thought, a frisson of fear for his 2IC and for them all running through him, but he kept his voice steady. "You going to make it, Carter?" he barked, keeping his weapon trained on Lioss's heart.

"Yes, sir," Carter gasped out again, but then she let out a cry and went to her knees. "Sam?" he heard Daniel's weak voice call out. At the same time he saw Lioss, who was smiling again, give an almost imperceptible nod in the direction of his men at the Gate. He heard an odd scraping sound and turned to see Teal'c pulling Daniel behind him and firing his staff. One man fell, but another had his knife-like weapon in hand and shot it from its handle like a missile, striking Teal'c in the leg. The Jaffa stumbled, almost dropping Daniel, but stayed on his feet, firing again and hitting his mark.

Jack turned his weapon on the other men at the Gate and started to fire as he shouted, "Teal'c! Take Daniel through. Now!" As another of the men at the Gate fell, he watched Sam struggle to raise her P-90 and fire at the soldiers behind him, and he heard a scream as someone was hit. Teal'c started to drag Daniel forward, but more men had moved to take the places of their fallen comrades and another of the knives flew, hitting Teal'c high in the chest below his shoulder. Daniel fell from his arm, and Teal'c, this time, went to his knees. Jack heard more of the scraping sounds of the Polistian weapons being readied and he spun to find two soldiers mere feet away, their knives pointing directly at his head.

"Lower your weapon, Colonel, or you will all die here and now."

No way this was happening, Jack thought. No f***ing way, but he relaxed his death grip on his P-90 and let it hang, putting his hands out to either side. Carter had already dropped her weapon and knelt practically curled over to the ground, gripping her stomach. One of the soldiers near the Gate had managed to grab Teal'c's staff as he went down; Teal'c was still on his knees, and Daniel was lying on his side where he'd fallen.

At Lioss's gesture, a young soldier stepped up and relieved Jack of his weapon.

The arrogant man smiled. "Now this _is_ interesting. Our original plan was to poison you all and hold you for ransom, and I suppose we could still do that, but a much more . . . _entertaining_ plan occurs to me. You evidently care a great deal about what happens to each other—an amazing weakness in a military unit, I must say—so . . . I believe we shall keep just one, and send the rest of you back through the Gate with a living example of what your comrade suffers. That should move our negotiations along splendidly. The question is, which shall we keep? Would you care to choose, Colonel?"

Jack looked behind him at Carter, Teal'c and Daniel and back at Lioss. "Yeah, sure, all right," he said. "I'll stay. Keep me."

Lioss laughed this time, and Jack itched to wipe the smug expression from his face.

"Not acceptable, Colonel. You are a military officer, one of many. It is my understanding, however, that Dr. Jackson and Major Carter are irreplaceable in your program, so it is most convenient that they are the ones who have already ingested our little potion. We will keep one of them, of course."

"Not going to happen," Jack said, with steel in his voice, although he had no clue how to stop it. "We don't leave our people behind."

Lioss sighed. "You are either incredibly stupid or you believe I am. There is nothing you can do to stop us. Very well. If you won't choose, I will. It was Dr. Jackson, I believe, who made it impossible to negotiate civilly in the first place for the weaponry and information we require, and I hear now that it was Dr. Jackson who almost ruined our plan today. I choose him." He nodded toward the men by the Gate, and Jack turned to see two of the four guarding Teal'c and Daniel step forward to grab Daniel.

"You will not!" Teal'c yelled, struggling to his feet. Two of the men "armed" their knives and pointed them at Teal'c's head, but Teal'c continued to rise, grabbing the arm of one of the soldiers reaching for Daniel.

"Kill him!" Lioss ordered.

"No, wait!" Jack shouted, and when Lioss raised his hand, stopping the men from firing, he said more quietly, "Wait. Just wait."

Lioss, his hand still in the air, looked at Jack expectantly.

"Send Teal'c and Major Carter through the Gate. I'll stay here with Dr. Jackson."

"O'Neill!" Teal'c said, his displeasure at Jack's idea sounding in his voice.

Jack didn't react and didn't break eye contact with the man who, he had no doubt, would someday, if he had the means, gladly become a mass murderer.

"Very well," Lioss said after a silence.

Still not turning, Jack said, echoing his orders about Daniel just short minutes before. "Teal'c. Take Carter and go."

"Colonel," Carter gasped. "We can't. . . ."

"That's an order, Major."

Jack didn't have to turn around to know that Teal'c still hadn't moved from Daniel's side. "Teal'c," he said again, and nothing more, but the command was clear.

This time he sensed movement, and he broke eye contact with Lioss to glance back over his shoulder and saw Teal'c, slowed by his injuries, moving to help Sam from the ground. Teal'c wrapped his arm around her waist, and Sam did the same to Teal'c. Then supporting each other, they limped toward the Gate. Just as they reached the event horizon, Sam looked back at him and their eyes locked, and he knew the pain he saw there was not just from the poison coursing through her system. He gave a short nod, and she turned and the two disappeared through the Gate.

Jack had a sudden, brief dread that he'd never see his two teammates again, but he swallowed it and turned, ignoring the weapons still pointed at his head, and started to walk toward Daniel, who was lying on the ground looking at Jack with pain and panic in his eyes. The soldiers surrounding him just watched, the only emotion showing on their faces that of amusement or, maybe, boredom.

Jack had only taken a few steps, though, when he heard Lioss command, "Take him!"

_Son of a bitch! _Jack thought, as strong hands grabbed his on both sides. He pushed one of the men off, but another grabbed him, and he stilled, waiting. He wouldn't be able to help Daniel if he got himself injured or killed. But then came the next command and he started to struggle in earnest.

"Throw him through," Lioss said.

"What the hell? We had a deal!" Jack shouted back at the man as he dug in his heels and tried to stop his forward motion toward the Gate. He threw himself backward, knocking one of the soldiers off-balance, and broke away, but then an elbow caught him in the stomach and he went down, and again hands grabbed him, dragging him back to his feet and toward the event horizon. _Son of a bitch!_ he thought again, feeling panic for the first time since the whole mission had gone to hell. _He was not leaving Daniel behind!_

As he started fighting wildly to throw the men off, he looked toward Daniel again and saw that he had somehow pulled himself halfway off the ground and was holding something in his hand pointed toward the Gate. While Jack watched, Daniel dropped his hand and fell back to his side, bringing his knees almost up to his chest. He was close enough to hear his teammate gasp in pain—"God!"—as if in fervent prayer.

"Daniel!" Jack couldn't help himself from shouting, as he kicked out in vain at the legs of one of the soldiers pulling him past his friend. "Daniel!"

But before he could see if Daniel heard him, he felt himself take flight and he was thrown headfirst into the vivid blue of the event horizon.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Screaming.

Jack struggled back to consciousness. Something terrible was happening. The team was in trouble. The scream came again. _Carter?_ Jack sat bolt upright, reaching for his P-90, but instead sent a piercing pain through his skull as he knocked something over with a clatter. He heard another scream, close by,and, ignoring the pain, rolled to get up. Instead of the dirt he expected, his feet hit air and he dropped two feet to a hard floor and stumbled, almost going to his knees. Someone grabbed his arms to steady him and called his name—"Colonel O'Neill!"—but he tried to push the hands away. "Team's in trouble. Got to get to them," he mumbled.

"Colonel O'Neill! Jack! It's Janet. Colonel, you're in the infirmary. You're injured. Colonel?"

Reality started to catch up with his semiconscious state, and Jack blinked and looked around. The infirmary? Fraiser?

He must have said the last out loud, because Janet answered, "Yes, Colonel," and guided him back a step so his legs were against the bed he'd jumped out of. He sat down gingerly, and closed his eyes against the pulsing in his head. _Thank god_, he thought, letting Janet maneuver him so he was lying down again. _I must have been dreaming._ The problem was, he couldn't remember a damn thing. So, just to make sure, he said, "Team?"

"Just try to relax, Colonel, and let me take a look at you. You managed to give yourself a concussion. . . ."

Jack's eyes shot open, and he pushed away Janet's hands and sat up. He knew the CMO well enough after all these years to know when she was avoiding his question, and that was a very bad question to avoid.

"Doc?" he said, urgency in his voice as his eyes darted around the infirmary. "Where are they?"

"Colonel, you need to...."

"Damn it!" Jack shouted then, causing his head to explode in pain again. He paused, closing his eyes, then went on, more quietly but just as insistently. "You need to tell me...."

At that moment there was another scream, more of a howl of pain, causing them both to jump, and even Janet closed her eyes this time.

_Jesus, _Jack thought_._ That _was_ Carter. He hadn't been dreaming. Carter was screaming. Jack looked toward the curtained-off bed in something close to shock. Carter never screamed. He'd seen her take a beating, yank her own dislocated shoulder back into place. . . . Was it that she was dreaming? Had something so horrible happened that she was screaming in her sleep?

Jack swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up unsteadily, eyes locked on the white curtain hiding the bed where his 2IC was now letting out small gasps and moans. Janet reached out to stop him, but he held up his hand without looking at her, and she sighed and took a step back. He felt a surge of vertigo and grabbed onto the small table near his bed, but again he waved Janet off and started to walk across the room. Janet walked by his side, hands slightly raised in his direction as if to catch him should he fall. He passed a bed with an airman curled on his side in a fetal position, arms around his head as if trying to block out the noise, and for a moment Jack wished he could do the same.

He hesitated when they reached the closed-off area, and Janet stepped by him and around to the foot of the bed.

"Sam," he heard her murmur quietly. "Colonel O'Neill is here."

If there was any response other than a hitch of breath, he didn't hear it, but Janet gestured him forward, and he pulled back the curtain and stepped through, letting it fall back behind him.

Carter lay on her side in a hospital gown, her knees drawn up almost to her chest. He scanned her quickly, looking for injuries, but he couldn't see anything, just the usual tubes and monitors. But she was biting her bottom lip hard and grimacing, and there were tears in her eyes, something else she rarely allowed herself, in public anyway. A nurse, Sullivan, sat at her side, holding her hand, and Jack had to give the Lieutenant credit for not crying out herself at the death grip Carter had on her fingers.

_Damn._

He schooled his face just in time as Sam lifted her head slightly to look at him.

"Sir," she said, in almost a whisper. "Are you all right? Daniel. . . ." Her eyes went wide then and even Jack could see the spasm that shook her and caused her to sob and then moan.

He reached out to touch her arm. "Carter?" he said.

She looked up at him again and choked out, "Sorry, sir. I'm sorry."

Jack had no idea what was going on or what had happened, but he knew one thing with certainty. "You have nothing to apologize for, Major," he said. Then he turned to Janet. Carter was in agony, and Teal'c and Daniel were nowhere to be seen. He needed answers, and he needed them now.

"What the hell is. . . ?"

Janet cut him off with a raised hand, then turned to Sam. "Sam, I just have to talk to the colonel for a minute. I'll be right back." Carter gave one small swift nod. Her eyes were closed tight and she was biting hard down on her lower lip again. Jack reached out again and grasped Sam's arm for a moment, then pulled his hand back and followed Janet away from the bed. She walked in front of him this time, her heels clicking in a no-nonsense manner on the floor. She stopped at the chairs by the wall and gestured him into one. He shook his head, but she just stared at him and he lowered himself slowly, aware now of aches and pains in other parts of his body. He was suddenly conscious, also, of his bare feet, his ripped BDU pants, the long gauze bandage on his shirtless chest and another smaller one on his right arm, a little blood seeping through. And the pounding in his head. Whatever had happened, he realized, hadn't happened that long ago.

He turned to Janet. "What the hell's going on? What's wrong with Carter and where the hell are Teal'c and Daniel?"

"Colonel, we need to get you changed. . . ."

Jack felt a spark of rage tinged with fear, and he jumped up from his seat. The pain spiked in his head and he staggered back and almost went down, but he righted himself.

"Damn it, Doc, you tell me what happened, now! Where's the rest of my team?"

A med tech across the room, Sgt. Halas, made a move toward them at Jack's angry words, but Janet just shook her head at the young man and turned back toward Jack. She sighed, and Jack knew he was finally going to get some information from her.

"Teal'c is in surgery," Janet began, using her "clinical voice," the one Jack had heard in a hundred briefings. "He has two apparent knife wounds, one to his chest and the other to his upper thigh. Providing there are no complications, Dr. Warner expects him to make a full recovery, with the help of his symbiote. Major Carter has been poisoned."

Jack actually felt himself pale. _What the hell? Poisoned? _He closed his eyes, trying to remember something, anything, that would help make sense of what he was hearing. "Is she going to be all right?" he asked.

As if in answer to his question, he heard a crash from Carter's bed, and he turned to look and saw that the IV pole was on the ground and Carter was jerking on the bed as if in convulsions.

"Oh, God!" she shrieked out. "Ah, not..."

"Doctor!" Sullivan called, but Janet was already at Carter's side. Jack went to the foot of the bed and watched as Janet checked Sam's pulse and held her other hand and said, "C'mon, Sam, breath through it. C'mon," as if Carter were having a baby not fighting off some alien poison.

_What the hell? _thought Jack. Out loud, he said, "Don't just talk to her, Doc. Give her something! Do something!"

Janet shot him a look but kept talking to Sam, who a minute later stopped jerking in the bed and lay still, panting as if she'd just run a marathon. Janet stood there for a moment longer, then straightened up wearily, and he bit off the yell he was saving.

She nodded to him and once again they stepped away from Sam's bed. "Sit down, Colonel, please."

Jack bit off his rejoinder and perched on one of the chairs, glancing back worriedly in Carter's direction.

"I don't understand. . . ," he started to say.

"No, Colonel, I'm afraid you don't," Janet interrupted. "She has been poisoned by an alien substance. We have no idea what we're dealing with. We are waiting for bloodwork and analysis of the sample Major Carter managed to bring back, but even then I don't have high hopes that it will help us. If I give her something now, without understanding how the poison works, and it interacts badly with whatever is in her system, and it could make things worse, or even kill her. . . . Do you understand now?"

Jack looked at Janet, who stared back unapologetically for the harshness of her words, and he realized he deserved it for suggesting that she wasn't doing everything she could for her patient and friend. He thought maybe he should apologize, but instead just nodded. He needed to get to the bottom of this. He needed to know what was going on; he needed to _remember_. Teal'c and Daniel. . . .

Jack blinked and a new feeling of dread settled in his stomach as he realized just what Janet hadn't said, not yet. He thought about how she'd told him about Teal'c first, and then Carter, even though she was right there in the room, and hadn't. . . . _God,_ he thought, _please let it be because he's being debriefed or in his office trying to come up with a solution or . . . something._

"And Daniel?" he asked, so quietly he wasn't sure she heard him at first.

He saw Fraiser hesitate, and the no-nonsense look in her eyes was replaced with one of pity, and the rock in his stomach became a boulder. _Oh, God. _

"Doc?" he said, bracing himself for the worst.

"Colonel. . . ." she said.

"Doc, just. . . ." He made a gesture with his hands that she should just say what she needed to say.

"I don't know," she said, finally.

He stared at her, not understanding what she meant. "You what? What?" he repeated himself. "How could you not know?"

Janet hesitated again, then asked, "Exactly what do you remember, Colonel?"

At Janet's evasive answer, Jack felt himself lose it, as panic and anger battled each other for dominance. "Damn it, Doc, this is no time for games! Where the hell is Daniel?"

Janet still didn't answer, and he could tell from the look on her face that she was about to tell him instead to calm down, but before she could, another voice, weak and filled with pain, called his name.

"Colonel?"

Sam. As desperate as Jack was for answers, he couldn't ignore her call, not when she was suffering the way she was. He took a deep breath to calm himself and turned toward her bed. She said something else, but he couldn't make out the words, so he took several steps in her direction.

"What was that, Carter?" he said.

Sam pushed herself up part way on trembling arms so she could look him in the eye.

"We left him behind, sir. We left Daniel behind."

Jack froze where he was, the words hitting him like a sledgehammer. He worked his jaw to say something, but he couldn't make the words come out. He looked to Janet, hoping she'd say that Sam was confused, wasn't remembering correctly, but the doctor wouldn't meet his eyes.

Finally he said, simply, "Where?"

Janet looked up slowly. "I believe the planet designation is PX0-4593 . . ." she started to say, but at Jack's impatient gesture, she said, "Polistia."

Jack put a hand to his head, then rubbed his eyes. "Polistia? You mean the guys who wanted farm equipment? Why would. . . ?"

* * *

Janet saw Jack's eyes widen and knew the exact moment it all came back to him. He staggered as if he'd been kicked, and he croaked, hoarsely, "Those sons of bitches; those goddammed sons of. . . ." He stopped mid-curse and went to his knees, grabbing for a nearby wastebasket, and started to vomit. Janet walked to him quickly and put her hand on his back.

"Easy, Colonel. It's the concussion," Janet said, even knowing that was only part of it. She nodded to Halas, and he moved to Jack's other side to help him up. "We'll just get you back to bed. . . ."

Jack practically growled then and yanked his arm from the med tech's hand. "No," he said flatly as he struggled to his feet. "I need some clean clothes. Now."

"Colonel," Janet said, although she knew she had little hope of getting him to listen, "you're in no condition to. . . ."

Jack didn't even wait for her to finish, just shook his head, walked to the infirmary doors and shoved them open. A passing airman started as the doors slammed open and looked even more startled when he saw who was standing there bleeding and half-undressed. "Get me a clean uniform, now!" Jack barked out and let the doors swing shut in the man's face. Then, not bothering to look at Janet, he stalked over to the phone and grabbed it off the hook. Janet knew it was pure adrenaline that was allowing him to move like that at all, and that when he crashed, it wouldn't be pretty, but she also knew he wouldn't be Jack O'Neill if he weren't behaving exactly as he was.

"This is O'Neill," Jack said into the phone. "Get me Hammond."

He turned to Janet while he waited and said in the same no-nonsense tone, "How long was I out?"

"A little over 10 minutes," she answered, and he nodded, before speaking into the phone, "I'm fine, sir, yes, sir. No. No, sir. I need four teams up and ready to go, stat. Full weapons complement, Goa'uld grenades. I'll be in the Gateroom in ten minutes. . . . Yes, General, I can. No, we can't afford to wait. . . . The MALP's still there, if they haven't destroyed it. Yes, sir. It's the only way, yes. . . . what? . . . No, no sir, I'm fine. . . ." Jack grimaced and held the phone out to Janet, who stepped forward to take it, ignoring the hard stare he was giving her. He had his job, and she had hers, and he knew better than to think he could cow her into doing anything against her medical judgment. Still she didn't find what she was about to do easy. She knew what it would cost him to be kept from going back for Daniel.

"General?" she said into the phone.

Hammond didn't beat around the bush. "Is Colonel O'Neill fit to lead a rescue mission through the Gate, Doctor?"

Janet tried to keep her face neutral and didn't look toward Jack, but internally she braced for the explosion she assumed was coming.

"No, sir, I'm afraid he isn't. The colonel was unconscious for more than 10 minutes, is still suffering from light-sensitivity, dizziness and nausea. . . ."

The doors swung open again, and the young airman came in with a neatly folded set of BDUs he'd obviously grabbed from the supply room down the hall. He'd managed to procure some boots as well, and Janet silently cursed the youth's initiative as Jack stalked past her, his mouth in a grim line, grabbed the uniform and boots with a mumbled dismissal, then spun back toward one of the private rooms attached to the infirmary.

". . .Thank you, Doctor," General Hammond was saying. "Would you please put Colonel O'Neill back on the phone?"

Janet took the phone away from her ear and held it out toward Jack's retreating back. "Colonel," she said. Jack hesitated, and for a moment she thought he'd keep going, but he turned and came back, looking right through her as he walked. He dropped the boots and put the BDUs down and took the phone.

"General," Jack said flatly, then, "No, I can't do that, sir. No, sir. . . . I need to. . . ." Jack closed his eyes as he listened to the general speak, and balled the hand not holding the phone into a tight fist. "Yes, sir," he said, finally, his emotionless voice belying the expression in his eyes. "I'll need to brief them, sir, or they'll be going in blind." He listened to Hammond's response, then turned back toward Janet and she almost winced at the look on his face, not anger exactly, although that was there, not despair, but something darker.

"He wants to talk to you," he said.

She took the phone. "Yes, sir?"

Hammond, as always, spoke calmly, though she knew how hard he too must have found his conversation with his second. "I'll need Colonel O'Neill to brief the rescue teams," he said. "You'll release him to the Gateroom?"

"Yes, sir, General. I'll send one of my people to escort him, just in case."

"If he complains, Doctor, tell him those are my orders."

"Yes, sir."

Janet hung up the phone and braced herself for another outburst from Jack, but when she turned he had already disappeared behind the door to change. Hardly two minutes later he was out, fully dressed. He stopped by Sam's bed and mumbled something, then walked past Janet, barely looking in her direction. She nodded to Halas and said, "Colonel, I'm going to send Sgt. Halas with you. General Hammond's orders."

Jack, his back still to them, raised his hand in a "come ahead" gesture without slowing his pace, but then suddenly stopped and turned around.

Colonel? she asked and waited.

"Take care of her, Doc. And Teal'c. Take care of them both," he said, then spun around again and walked rapidly out of the room.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Jack stood in the control room, clutching the edge of the table as the chevrons locked into place. "Chevron three encoded," Walter said, maintaining his usual calm tone, despite the tension in the room.

The Polistians had kept their first wormhole engaged for the full thirty-eight minutes and then had dialed in again before the SGC was ready to dial out. If they'd learned that trick from someone on SG-9, Jack thought now, there'd be hell to pay. Fifty-eight f***ing minutes since he'd been thrown through the Gate, fifty-eight minutes since he'd last seen Daniel, curled in agony in the dirt, and almost ninety since Daniel and Sam had been poisoned. Too goddam long. At least this time they'd started dialing as soon as the last wormhole had collapsed. The Polistians would have to be damn fast with the DHD to beat the computer.

"Chevron four encoded."

Jack looked down into the Gateroom as SGs-3, 7, 8 and 12 stood ready to go, with Major Adul keeping them steady and reminding them of their roles. Adul was a good man, had done a fine job with SG-8, and today had not hesitated when they'd gotten nothing from the MALP—no picture, no sound—as if someone had thrown a heavy blanket over the thing. Adul, all of them, were ready and willing to face the unknown, risk their lives to bring Daniel—and the antidote, if there really was one—home; all of them were good people, good soldiers. And damn it to hell, he should be the one leading them through.

He'd marched to the briefing room, Halas, the med tech kid in tow, certain Hammond would relent and let him go through the Gate. There was no other choice; this was his team that had been attacked, his people who were suffering, and his whole body thrummed with the need to go back and pull Daniel out and then blow the bastards to. . . . But Hammond had remained firm, had not even engaged in the argument Jack was spoiling to have, had just said, "We're wasting time, Colonel. Please tell the major and his people what to expect."

So he had, knowing all the while, even through his anger, that he was lucky Hammond had even agreed to send a rescue party through, given the risk and everything they didn't know.

And then they'd waited.

"Chevron six encoded," Walter intoned as the Gate continued to spin. _C'mon!_ Jack pleaded silently. _C'mon!_

"Chev. . . ."

_No, dammit, no!_ Jack slammed his hand against the console as the telltale sound and sight of an incoming wormhole burst into the room, and without waiting for the order, Walter hit the button closing the iris. The sound of Adul's curse carried through the safety glass as the iris spun shut.

"Unauthorized off-world activation," Walter announced, unnecessarily, over the intercom. "Unauthorized off-world activation. . . ." He turned toward Jack and Hammond: "PX0-4593, sirs."

Polistia.

Hammond nodded and with a weary sigh gestured toward the control panel, and Walter pushed the transmit button and slid out of his way.

"This is General Hammond of Stargate Command. I need to speak with Minister Gahry, Marshal Lioss or someone else in authority immediately. Please respond."

As before, there was only silence.

_Another goddam thirty-eight minutes._ Jack lowered himself slowly into the chair behind him and put his head in his hands. Carter's screams still echoed in his head, and he could swear, somewhere, he heard Daniel wailing in pain. Alone.

Hammond shook his head and reached for the mike, ready to tell the teams to stand down once again, but before he could speak, a burst of static came from the speaker in front of them, and the previously blank viewscreen suddenly showed a bright, metallic-gray sky. Jack's head shot up, and he got to his feet, staring intently at the image. A moment later, the smug face of Marshal Lioss appeared.

"This is Marshal Lioss of the Polistian Empire. Whom am I addressing?"

_Polistian Empire, my ass_,Jack thought, and he opened his mouth to say just that, but Hammond held up his hand and, with steel in his voice, said, "This is General George Hammond of the U.S. Air Force, Earth Stargate Command. You are holding one of our people, Marshal. I demand that Dr. Jackson be returned to us, in good health, immediately."

Lioss smiled. "You demand," he said. "You demand." He pretended to muse this over for a moment, then dropped his smile and sneered into the MALP camera as if he could see them where they stood. "Apparently, the arrogance of your people knows no bounds. You are in no position to make demands. We will contact you when we see fit. If you attempt to send a rescue party through or even activate the Great Circle, Dr. Jackson will be immediately executed, as will ten of our less loyal citizens and their families."

Lioss stood back from the MALP, and someone they couldn't see turned the camera lens to face the area immediately behind the DHD. On their knees, with soldiers surrounding them, were maybe thirty Polistians, old and young, men, women and children, even babies clutched in the arms of parents and grandparents. Some of the prisoners were weeping, but most had the glazed look in their eyes of people who couldn't quite comprehend what was happening to them.

Jack felt the bile rise again but held it back. From the moment he'd set eyes on that bastard Lioss, he'd known what kind of man he was, but seeing this. . . .

"You would murder your own people?" Hammond snapped.

The camera turned back, and Lioss bent in front of it, his face filling the screen again. "They are traitors who would die for the greater glory of the Polistian people, a cause far greater than their worthless lives. In fact, General, should you decide to act out of vengeance and send a weapon through that would, as your Colonel O'Neill put it, 'blow our planet into the next galaxy,' "—Hammond threw Jack a sideways glance and he winced, remembering his words—"we would all rejoice in the opportunity to die martyrs to the Empire."

Then Lioss smiled again. "Tell O'Neill, however, it was useful to discover that Earth possesses weapons of such power."

Jack practically growled then and jumped up, ignoring the spike slamming his head, and leaned toward the console, but Hammond gave a quick shake of his head, and Jack closed his mouth and made himself sit back in the chair. He realized his hands were shaking, and he balled them into fists to hold them still.

"What is it exactly that you want?" Hammond said, barely restraining his own anger.

"Right now? Right now, I want you to wait. I want you to wait as you watch your Major scream in pain. I want you to wait as you imagine the unbearable suffering of Dr. Jackson. We will contact you with our demands when we feel you have had sufficient time to contemplate the consequences of refusal. Goodbye, General."

And before Hammond could respond, there was a wooshing sound, and the wormhole blinked out.

There was dead silence in the control room as they all stared at the blank screen. In the Gateroom, obviously aware that the wormhole had disengaged but unaware of the drama that had just unfolded above them, Major Adul and the rest of the rescue party, still carrying their full gear, shuffled their feet and looked up toward the window, awaiting their orders.

General Hammond, uncharacteristically, appeared frozen with indecision, but a split second later he shook his head quickly as if coming out of a trance, then took the microphone. "Gentlemen, have your teams stand down. Team leaders, briefing room, now." He let go of the mike and ordered, "Sergeant, contact SG-14 and tell them to come on home, and then contact our other off-world teams and make sure they haven't been trying to reach us."

"Yes, sir," Walter affirmed, and started punching addresses into the computer.

Hammond turned to Jack then, who was slumped in his chair and still staring at the blank screen. "Colonel?" he asked more quietly. "Briefing room?"

Jack looked up tiredly and nodded. "Yes, sir," he said.

Hammond hesitated, and Jack knew the general was sizing him up, trying to decide if he should order him to the infirmary instead, so, despite the pounding in his head and the exhaustion that was making his limbs feel like hundred-pound weights, he straightened up and looked his CO in the eye. "I'm fine, General. I'll be right behind you."

It looked as if the general wanted to say something else, but instead he just nodded, put a hand on Jack's shoulder for a moment that said more than any words would have, and turned and left the room.

Jack slumped again in the chair, despair threatening to overwhelm him.

So.

No rescue mission. No antidote. No way to get to Daniel. No way to help Carter.

What the hell were they going to do? And how the hell had this happened?

He closed his eyes and shook his head. Oh, he knew how this had happened, knew exactly who was responsible for this fiasco. The memory was there, had been there, buzzing about his brain ever since everything had started to go to hell on the planet: Daniel, at another briefing, pacing back and forth, hands flailing as he argued, "How can we sign a treaty based on what we know about these people, or, more accurately, what we _don't _know? Isn't anyone else concerned that the Polistians are hiding something so basic, that they're _lying _to us?"

And Jack remembered, just as clearly, shooting Daniel down. "Everyone lies in negotiations," he'd said, as if talking to a child. "And everyone knows it. . . . Well, _almost_ everyone." Then he'd gone on to make some joke about what the Polistians could do with their farm equipment.

And Daniel had stopped talking.

Oh, yeah, he knew exactly where the responsibility lay for this one.

Waving off Halas, who was still hovering, Jack pushed himself out of the chair and headed for the briefing room. There had to be a Plan B.

**bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb**

Pain.

It had started inside his stomach and spread outward, up his chest, into his neck and head, into his very eyes, down his torso, out his limbs through his hands and feet, across his skin, as if someone had scraped it away, leaving his nerves raw and exposed.

Pain, god-awful pain.

But he thought he could control it. Teal'c had taught him. If he focused, let himself move toward a state of Kel'no'reem. . . . Daniel closed his eyes, shutting out the tiny, dark cell, too small to even stretch to his full length, and tried, again, to slow his breathing. He just needed a little more time before the next spasms started, that horrible twisting of muscles and limbs. . . .

_Breathe, Daniel, breathe_, he told himself. _Slow it down. __You can do this._ In . . . out . . . in . . . out. . . . Teal'c had taught him well. Minutes passed, and his long shaky breaths grew calmer, and he breathed—in . . . out . . . in . . . out—until he felt himself floating, floating, almost, above the pain. It was still agonizing, like molten lava in his veins, like some wild animal ripping at his guts, but it was growing farther away, just far enough, he thought, that he might not lose his mind. In . . . out . . . in . . . out. . . .

Somewhere, almost beyond his conscious mind, he heard them coming, the demand to open the outer gate, the tromping of heavy feet on the ground, but he wouldn't let go. He couldn't. It was working. . . .

The door banged violently open, and Daniel started, loosing his concentration, and fell back into his tortured body with a crash. He cried out, despite his best intentions, then bit off the sob that tried to escape him.

_Oh, God, it hurts._

The laughter, close, derisive and cruel, drew his attention outward, and, still curled on his side on the dirt floor where he'd been dumped who knows how long ago, Daniel turned his head toward the door and saw three sets of legs, one in robes, mere feet away. He raised head further, straining his sore neck and back, to see the faces.

Two . . . _thugs, _he thought, for lack of a better word. Twin thugs. Two large men dressed in black uniforms with no insignia, gray, close-cropped hair, square faces, hands on the clubs at their waists. As if he might attack them. If he could have, Daniel would have laughed at the absurdity. Behind the twins, stood Gahry, still dressed in his colorful, ceremonial robes, a feral grin on his face. _Bastard,_ Daniel thought. He'd never liked the man, and he be damned if he was going to let him see how much pain he was in, how afraid he was. Clenching his jaw with the effort, Daniel raised himself slowly until he was sitting, then, back against the wall, pushed up till he was standing. His limbs trembled almost uncontrollably, but he managed not to collapse, and he tried to put all the contempt he was feeling into his face.

Gahry laughed again and stepped in front of his guards. "Why Dr. Jackson," he said, almost jovially, in that same false voice he'd used throughout the negotiations, "you seem angry." Then his smile dropped and he took another step forward until he was so close Daniel could feel the man's stale breath on his face. Daniel drew his head back against the wall, but otherwise didn't move.

"I knew from the beginning you'd be trouble," he whispered, naked hatred showing in his eyes. "So many questions, so many doubts. Such _superiority. _Such _confidence_. How confident are you _now_, Doctor?"

Daniel tried to think of an intelligent response, something to show he wasn't intimidated by the repulsive little man, but between the searing pain and the lack of oxygen caused by Gahry's too close proximity, it was all he could do to stay on his feet.

"Well, Doctor? Gahry persisted. "How confident are you _now_?

The words came out, but Daniel was pretty sure they weren't his. A weird time to be channeling Jack, but what the hell.

"Fu** you, you pompous ass."

Gahry's eyes went black, and Daniel braced himself internally for an assault, a part of him wondering almost abstractly if he would even feel a punch through all the other pain. But the punch didn't come. Instead, Gahry's face cleared, and he stepped back. He was smiling again.

_God, what now?_ Daniel thought, gritting his teeth against a new surge of burning. He could swear it was growing stronger, and it scared him. _Please just leave me alone so I can curl up and cry._

"Marshal Lioss has granted my request that I be the one to interrogate you."

"Oh," Daniel said.

"You have information we require if we are to return the Polistian regime to its time of glory. That and the weapons your people will provide to save your life will guarantee our empire shall last a millennium and beyond. It shall dwarf all others that have come before it."

"Right," Daniel said.

"We can make your pain go away, or we can make it a thousand times worse."

Daniel blinked. He didn't think there could be a thousand times worse. _Could there?_

"You will give us the coordinates to every inhabited world you know, starting with the more primitive."

_Oh, of course._

Daniel slid down the wall until he was sitting again and closed his eyes. Maybe if he just ignored Gahry and the thugs, they'd go away. Pain swirled around him, inside, outside, everywhere, and it took all his effort now just to keep from moaning. He needed to breathe; he didn't think he could take. . . .

The boot crashed into his side, knocking him over, and Daniel cried out. Oh, yes, he could feel that. _Damn. _As if in response to the new stimulus, his nerve endings seemed to go wild with pain. _Oh, Jesus, _he thought, more of a prayer than anything else. Conscious of Gahry standing above him, he struggled to stay quiet, to not give them the satisfaction of hearing him yell, and after a few moments, the pain started to subside again, to the merely unbearable.

Gahry knelt by his side, spreading his robe around him, and put one of Daniel's notebooks and a pen on the floor next to him. "Give us the symbols, Dr. Jackson. Let's start with one planet. There must be a world you don't care about, a world in need of a new order. For just one, I can make the pain go away for as long as I wish. A minute, an hour. . . ."

"Don't know any," Daniel mumbled, closing his eyes again against the pain.

"But you do," Gahry said. "One of your colleagues on SG-9 told us. Gilbert? I believe the young man idolizes you, Dr. Jackson. He says you know more 'Gate addresses,' as you call them, than anyone else possibly in the universe. His words, not mine."

"Not me," Daniel said, his voice little more than a whisper. "He must. . . ." Daniel felt a twitch in his leg, and another in his arm, and his eyes popped open. _Oh, god, no. It was starting again. No, not again._

He heard Gahry's voice as if through a haze—"He must, what, Dr. Jackson?"—but he ignored him. _Breathe, _he thought,_ breathe. Maybe I can stop it this time. _And he tried. In . . . out . . . in . . . out. . . . Another twinge, and another, and his breath came faster. In, out, in, out, and he knew he was gasping. The first spasm hit, twisting him sideways, then the second, in his neck, jerking his head against the floor, and a third in his chest, and another in his leg, and he heard himself grunting, inhuman, animal-like sounds, but he wasn't going to scream, he wasn't. . . .

Daniel screamed.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Daniel couldn't stop shaking. The spasms had stopped, but his thoughts still jumped crazily in his head, and at first he couldn't remember where he was. All he knew was pain, terrible, terrible pain. An acrid smell filled the cell, and he realized that it was coming from him, that he had wet himself, and a rush of shame mixed with his fear and confusion.

Suddenly someone was speaking. "All that suffering, for nothing," a voice said, its smug tone belying the sympathetic words. "You must see that, each time, the seizures grow worse. Can you imagine that, Dr. Jackson? Can you imagine worse pain?" The voice hesitated, as if expecting an answer, then went on. "But we can make the pain go away. You need only give us the symbols."

A hand holding a notebook and a pen came into view, and Daniel remembered.

_Gahry_. The minister had stood by and watched as Daniel's body jerked and contorted, had listened to his screams and done nothing. He'd _enjoyed_ it, obviously.

Despite his exhaustion and the relentless burning in his veins and across his skin, Daniel somehow got his shaky arms to work, and he sat up once again with his back to the wall. He didn't try to stand, knowing he wouldn't make it. Instead, he simply stared up at Gahry.

Gahry sneered at him. "Here you sit in your own waste, yet you still believe you are superior, don't you?" He bent and shoved the pen in Daniel's face again. "The symbols," he spat out.

Daniel leaned his head back against the stone wall and looked at a crack on the wall behind Gahry. Maybe if he just ignored him, he would go away. He started to concentrate on his breathing again. _In . . . out . . . in . . . out. . . ._

"Do you really think you can win? I heard your screams, I saw your tears. You are less than nothing."

I_n . . . out . . . in . . . out . . . i—_

The backhand caught Daniel in the mouth, jerking his head sideways and knocking him to the ground. His thoughts scattered again, for a second, but then he was pushing himself up once more, knowing it was only pure stubbornness that was keeping him going. This time he ended up on his knees, swaying. He felt the blood dripping from his lip, and he raised his hand to wipe it away. Gahry watched him without moving, then shook his head and turned toward the door.

"It's only a matter of time; you know that," he said as he stepped out of the cell. He waved to his guards, who'd been standing in the corridor looking in, and they all strode away. Someone pushed the door shut with a slam, and Daniel heard the bar slip into place. He stayed as he was until the footsteps died away and he heard the outer gate shut, then he sank slowly back to the floor.

"Any time now, Jack," he whispered, as he pulled his knees up to his chest and waited for the next spasms to hit.

**bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb**

It was hours before Jack finally returned to the infirmary. He trudged wearily down the hall next to Halas, who had followed his orders to the letter, virtually never leaving his charge's side, offering Tylenol and a constant anxious expression and, at least twice on this last trip, a steadying hand. It was a sign of just how exhausted, how wretched Jack felt that the second time he'd actually accepted the med tech's help.

In the debriefing, they'd gone around and around, looked at the problem from every angle, and after all that they still had nothing. No Plan B. If they dialed the Gate, Daniel was dead, and those terrified people with him. There was no doubt that Lioss would do it, would murder them all without hesitating. So they were left with exactly what Lioss wanted: waiting. Waiting for the Tok'ra to respond to their hails. Waiting for Kovachek and the rest of SG-9 to make it back from their canceled leave to see if they had gained any knowledge during negotiations that might help. Waiting to see if Fraiser and her people could come up with an antidote on their own and at least help Carter.

Waiting for that psycho Lioss to contact them, in minutes, hours or days.

Jack stopped briefly outside the infirmary doors. He felt so damn helpless, and now he had to go in there and tell Carter—and Teal'c, who'd they'd learned was out of surgery—that there was nothing they could do for Daniel, that he was trapped there, suffering, and they couldn't get to him. And he had to tell Carter that they weren't going for the antidote, that they still had nothing, no way to save her from all that pain.

And the pain was getting worse, he knew. Halfway through the briefing, Fraiser had contacted Hammond with that bit of news, that while Carter's vitals had remained unchanged, the spasms that racked her body were occurring more often and more with more intensity. She was still unwilling to risk pain medication, but she was hoping that muscle relaxants would alleviate the worst of the spasms. She hadn't contacted them again, and that at least had to be a good sign, right? If Carter had reacted badly to the muscle relaxants, she would have told them. . . .

Jack sighed, knowing he had stalled long enough, and pushed through the doors. Ignoring Halas's hand on his arm trying to steer him to one of the infirmary beds, he moved toward Carter instead—he needed to check on her and Teal'c; his pounding head could wait. One of the nurses moved to intercept him, but then Janet stepped into view, said something quietly to her, and she stopped. Jack was conscious of both their eyes on him as he walked.

The curtain around Sam's bed was drawn, and as he drew a little closer, he heard a voice from behind it, calm, strong and steady: Teal'c's voice. Jack stopped in his tracks and glanced at his watch to confirm that it had been barely two hours since Teal'c had gotten out of surgery. Symbiote or no, that was an awfully quick recovery, and he wasn't sure whether to berate the Jaffa for not resting or hug the big guy for watching after Carter while he was gone. Listening to him now, he was definitely leaning toward the latter.

". . . .slowly, more slowly. If you allow your mind to follow, it will be as a waking dream. Yes, I am certain. The pain will become distant, as if trying to reach you through a Verilian force field. . . ."

Jack walked forward and stepped around the curtain. Teal'c, who sat in a chair by Sam's bed holding her hand, acknowledged his presence with a nod. Teal'c looked almost himself, but Jack could see the effort behind his erect pose. Sam, who was still curled on her side, had her eyes closed and was breathing steadily, yet deliberately, her face a study in concentration, the lines of pain still drawn around her eyes.

"Do not analyze, Major Carter. You must release you mind, allow it to follow the path you have envisioned, along the beach, winding into the distance, the waves gentle roar in you ears. . . ."

Sam took a deep breath, then another, but then her eyes popped open. Her back was to him, and Jack wasn't aware that he'd made a sound or even moved, but she must have sensed him anyway. "Colonel?" she asked in a hoarse voice. Jack winced, and raised his hands a little in a gesture of apology toward Teal'c.

"Sorry, Carter. I didn't mean to distract you. Just keep doing what you were doing."

Sam ignored his suggestion. "Daniel, sir?"

Jack hesitated, then said, "No news yet. What I need from you is to take care of yourself. I'll take care of. . . ."

"No, sir," Sam said. She turned her head toward him, gritting her teeth at the pain even that small effort cost her. "I'm sorry, sir, I need to know." She took a shaky breath and continued. "You said you were going back through to get him, but something went wrong, didn't it?"

"I too would like to know the answer to that question, O'Neill," Teal'c said. "It is imperative that we bring Daniel Jackson home."

_Ya think? _Jack almost snapped, but he knew that it was only worry for their teammate driving their questions. He took a deep breath and walked around the side of the bed so Sam didn't have to turn to see him. He stumbling a little as he maneuvered around the IV pole andTeal'c reached up to steady him. Halas, who'd followed him across the room like some obedient shadow, pulled a chair around, and Jack sat down as naturally as he could, more relieved than he would ever admit to be off his feet. He looked up at the lieutenant and said, "Thanks," then jerked his head sideways, and the young man nodded and stepped far enough away to give them some privacy.

"Sir?" Sam persisted.

Jack hesitated again, finding it hard to say the words out loud. Finally, he sighed, slumping in his chair: "We can't get to him."

"What?" Sam said, trying to sit up. "We have to—"

"Carter," he said, interrupting her and putting his hand on her shoulder to encourage her to lie back down. When she didn't move, he said more quietly, "Sam."

Sam reluctantly let Jack help lower her to the bed, biting off a moan as she lay back down. She closed her eyes for a moment, opened them again and both she and Teal'c stared at him.

Jack knew he needed to just spit it out. "We can't send a rescue party," he said, "because Lioss has a bunch of people hostage, old people, kids, and he says he'll kill them, and Daniel, if we even dial their Gate."

"Oh, god," Sam rasped, looking even more distraught.

"It will be O.K., Carter," Jack said, not believing his own words but knowing he had to try. "We'll figure something out. We've put in a call to the Tok'ra; they'll lend us a ship."

"If they answer at all," she whispered.

"Major Carter is right. It has often taken the Tok'ra days, even weeks to respond to our hails."

_Way to sugarcoat it, Teal'c_, Jack thought. He rubbed his hand across his face and sighed tiredly. "Yeah, well, let's hope they're faster this time. And you know when Jacob hears about this, he and Selmak will move heaven and earth—and the Tok'ra high council—to help."

Sam smiled a little at the mention of her father, but she didn't look convinced. Neither did Teal'c.

"And Marshal Lioss?" Teal'c asked, the disgust he felt for the man evident in his voice. "What has he demanded in return for the lives of Daniel Jackson and Major Carter?"

Jack looked sideways at Sam. "Teal'c. . . ," he reprimanded.

"It's all right, sir. I know what Lioss said. That—" Sam gasped and clutched Teal'c's hand more tightly, then let out a small whimper. She took three trembling breaths before she could continue "—that the poison will kill us," she finished.

"Fraiser will find a way, Carter," Jack said. "She. . . ."

"Sir, please," Carter interrupted through clenched teeth. "I don't know how long I can. . . . What did Lioss want?"

"He didn't say. He wants. . . . He wants to keep us hanging. He says he'll contact us when he's ready."

They were all silent for a long moment.

"And so we wait," Teal'c said.

Jack nodded, despair almost assaulting him again at the thought. "We wait," he said.

Teal'c contemplated that for another long moment, then turned toward Sam and said, "Major Carter, we will try again to help you reach a state of Kel'no'reem."

"No, Teal'c, you need to rest," Sam protested weakly.

"My symbiote has repaired me sufficiently for the time being."

I don't know if I can, Teal'c. I tried. . . ."

"We will try again. Remember, you must start by focusing on your breathing. Slowly. . . ."

As Jack watched Teal'c work his magic, he shook his head slightly, wondering for perhaps the thousandth time what he had done to deserve such an incredible team, how he'd come to be so fortunate, so _blessed _to end up with these people in his life. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked up to see Janet at his side. She jerked her head, mimicking his motion to Halas earlier, and he gave a grimace but pushed himself off the chair and followed her to a bed far enough away so they could talk without disturbing Teal'c and Carter.

"Is the muscle relaxant helping?" he asked, as soon as they were out of earshot. "Carter didn't seem quite as . . . bad as before."

"It seems to be," Janet said. "The muscle spasms had become quite intense, but after we injected the medication, we found that the next episode was not as severe, and didn't last as long. And that was almost an hour ago. If we can find the right balance, we might be able to spare her at least that pain."

"That's good, Doc. It's hard to see her so. . . ." Jack didn't know how to end the thought, so pressed on: "And an antidote? Are you anywhere close?"

Janet sighed and shook her head, and Jack could see that she was frustrated with his question. "I wish I could give you good news on that, Colonel, but right now it's still all guesswork."

Jack nodded, grimly, and looked over toward Carter's bed.

"And Teal'c. Should he even be out of bed?" he asked.

Janet almost smiled, albeit grimly. "No," she said. "And you should have been confined to a bed hours ago, and Major Carter shouldn't be discussing anything upsetting. . . ."

Jack just looked at her, and she went on. "But I know you all too well by now to think that you could do anything but what you're doing. Teal'c will be fine if he enters Kel'no'reem in the next few hours, and right now he's helping Sam more than I can. And Sam, well, Sam wouldn't rest until she knew what was happening with Daniel. And you, Colonel . . . you are finally going to let me examine you and give you the care you need."

When Jack didn't have a comeback, Janet raised her eyebrows, then looked at him with concern.

"Not that I'm surprised," Janet said, pulling out her penlight, "since you've been running around for hours with a concussion, but just how bad do you feel?"

"Not good," Jack admitted. "On a scale of one to ten, I think my head's maybe a twelve."

Janet shone her penlight in one of Jack's eyes, and he pulled back and growled, "Fifteen!"

Janet grimaced in sympathy but said, "Sorry, Colonel, you know the drill. And it could have been a lot worse than a concussion, obviously, if you hadn't thought to send your IDC before the Polistians tossed you back through the Gate."

"What?" Jack said.

Janet shook her head. She looked chagrined. "I'm sorry, Colonel. I know that wasn't funny. Let me get you something for the pain, and then we'll send you for a CAT scan."

"No," Jack said, "I mean, what do you mean, 'If I hadn't sent my IDC'?"

"I'm sorry," Janet said. "I thought you realized. . . . Teal'c and Sam thought you were staying on the planet and told the control room to close the iris. If they hadn't received a second IDC. . . .

Jack gaped at her. _Jesus_, he thought, for the first time realizing how close he'd come to being splattered into a thousand pieces. It hadn't even occurred to him. They'd closed the iris. _Jesus._

"I didn't send the IDC," he said.

Janet, who was checking the bandage on Jack's arm, looked at him, then back at his wound. "You have a concussion, Colonel. Your memory is bound to play a few tricks on you."

"No," Jack said. "Even if I'd thought of it, there wasn't any time. I don't. . . ."

Jack stopped, his mouth open, and stared through Janet as he remembered the last moments on Polistia. He could see it now, see the image that hadn't made sense to him at the time. As he was dragged kicking and screaming toward the Gate, he'd turned toward Daniel and seen him raised part way off the ground, pointing his hand toward the Gate. _Holy, crap. _Jack suddenly felt nauseous again and put his face in his hands. Daniel, already in agony from the poison and even knowing he was about to be left behind, _again_, on some godforsaken planet, had still, somehow, had the presence of mind to realize what would have happened when Teal'c and Sam went through the Gate without them.

Jack raised his head and looked bleakly at Janet.

"Daniel," he said.

"Colonel?"

"I didn't send the code. Daniel did."


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: Hi, everyone. I accidentally left some text at the bottom of the last chapter (from an earlier draft) when I posted, which completely negated the tone I was going for. (Arrgh!) I fixed it not that many hours later, but I apologize for any confusion for those of you who read the chapter early on. It was supposed to end: "I didn't send the code. Daniel did." **

**I've also noticed some pretty egregious word errors in a previous chapter, which I've also fixed. As usual, too much to do and not enough sleep. Sorry for my carelessness. (Please, if you notice stuff like this, feel free to point it out!) **

**OK, on to the next chapter...**

Chapter 6

It was not long after the last time Gahry had come, after the bastard had broken the fingers in Daniel's left hand for no other reason, as far as Daniel could tell, than that he could, that Daniel's screams of pain began to mix with screams of rage. He raged at Gahry and at the twin thugs, at Lioss, and at the whole planet of people who would let this happen. And he raged at the SGC for sending him in the first place when he'd told them the Polistians couldn't be trusted, and he raged at Sam and Teal'c for leaving him behind and Jack because, where the hell was he? He had no idea how long he'd been tortured in his dark box of a cell, but surely it had been many, many hours. Surely it had been long enough for someone to come. Were they just going to leave him here? Was this how he was going to die, wracked with convulsions, lying in his own waste, his only company a petty, sadistic dismal excuse for a human being?

He screamed until he had no voice, pounded the dirt with his good hand, kicked at the walls, his anger almost as white-hot as the pain that ran through him. And then the spasms started again, and his now hoarse, almost whispered cries turned to sobs as his muscles contracted and released to their own beat, the banging of his broken hand adding its own new, grotesque rhythm to the poison's dance.

_Oh, God, why didn't anyone come?_

Later, after the latest paroxysm had finally ended and Daniel lay exhausted and unmoving, curled fetally around his broken hand, he felt shame at breaking down, and more, for cursing his friends. He knew that, if they could, they would move heaven and earth to get to him. If they weren't there, it was because they couldn't be. Teal'c was badly wounded, Sam, _god, Sam_, could well be suffering the pain he was, if Janet hadn't found a way to help. And Jack. . . . Daniel thought again of the last moments he'd seen Jack, as Lioss's soldiers had tossed him, screaming and kicking, headfirst into the event horizon. Daniel knew from firsthand experience that that was not a good way to go through the Gate. Jack could be injured, or worse, and Daniel had lain there cursing his name.

And then another, horrible thought occurred to him, one that was almost worse than the torture he suffered. He thought again of Jack's last moments on the planet. When Daniel had seen that they were about to force Jack through the Gate, he realized that Teal'c or Sam must have already shouted for the iris to be closed. So he'd fumbled for his GDO and managed to send the code just seconds before Jack hit the event horizon. But he'd been shaking from pain, in a panic that he wouldn't be fast enough. Had he. . . ? Daniel tried hard now to remember the feeling of the GDO keypad under his fingers as he'd blindly entered the numbers. Had he entered the right ones? Had he. . . ? Oh, Jesus, what if he'd sent the wrong code?

What if he'd killed Jack?

**bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb**

Jack awoke slowly, his brain still chasing the disturbing, disjointed images of his dreams. His head was pounding, and he wondered just how much he'd had to drink, and what the celebration had been about. He opened his eyes reluctantly, expecting bright sunlight to be shining through the Venetian blinds in his room, but instead saw the industrial-looking fluorescent lights of the infirmary.

And he remembered.

Jack forced himself to remain calm. They would have woken him if anything had happened. Both General Hammond and Janet had sworn that if the Polistians, or the Tok'ra, made contact, or if Carter's condition got any worse, they would wake him. If they hadn't come, he must not have been out too long. He raised his head carefully and squinted at the clock over the infirmary doors. No, that couldn't be right. He blinked and looked again.

Six hours? He'd slept for more than six hours? That meant it had been more than eight hours since the Polistians had abruptly shut down the Gate, starting the damn, torturous countdown. The Polistians must have contacted them again by now. Why the hell hadn't anyone woken him? He fought the urge to jump from the bed, remembering the last time he'd tried that, and slowly sat up and swung his legs over the side. He didn't want any more excuses for Fraiser or General Hammond to keep him to restricted duty, so he did a mental check before he got up.

No dizziness—good. Head was . . . well, yeah, still pounding, but no one had to know that. Scrapes and bruises—barely noticeable.

O.K., he was good to go.

He stood up, relieved to feel steady on his feet, and not seeing Janet, started for the phone. He needed to find out what had happened; he needed to know what the bastards wanted. He should have been there, dammit, as soon as the Gate started dialing. A strange sound stopped Jack's progress, and he turned back toward the drawn curtain around Carter's bed, just feet from the one he'd been sleeping in. There was the sound of shuffling papers, a curse, and a small sob, then more shuffling papers. Jack felt a stab of guilt seeing that no one was by the bed this time. Teal'c must be in his quarters trying to Kel'no'reem, and he himself had been sleeping away while Sam had been suffering. That wasn't right.

He walked back toward her bed and poked his head through the curtain. Sam sat, with the bed partially raised, a stack of paper on her lap, and several more floating to the floor. She had her eyes closed and was biting her lip and clutching the papers hard enough to pulp them. Tears streamed down her face.

"Carter?" he said, gently.

Her grimace of pain turned to a wince as she realized he was looking at her, and she took a deep breath, obviously trying to compose herself for his sake.

"It's O.K., Carter," he said. "This isn't the time to be strong. You don't have to pretend."

Sam opened her eyes slowly and looked at him. "It's bad, sir," she said. "Really bad."

He nodded. "I know."

"I tried Kel'no'reem," she added, "and I think it worked a little, but . . . I couldn't. . . ."

"Yeah," Jack acknowledged. "I think only Daniel. . . ." Then he stopped.

"Look," he said, "I just woke up and I need to find out. . . ."

"Nothing, sir. There's nothing yet," Sam interrupted him. "Janet just left to talk to the General."

Jack narrowed his eyes. That couldn't be right. Nothing? _Nothing?_

Sam saw his look and shook her head. "Nothing, sir. I'm sure of it."

_Dammit to hell_, Jack thought. _Those stupid, evil bastards._

"And no Tok'ra," Jack said flatly.

"No, sir," Sam whispered, closing her eyes against what must have been another wave of pain, or maybe just sorrow that her father hadn't come.

"He'd be here if he could, Carter," he said.

Sam nodded, he eyes still closed. "Yes, sir."

Jack sighed and pulled up a chair. "So," he said, hoping to at least distract her a little, "what's all this?"

She opened her eyes again and gave a little sob. "Daniel's notes."

"On what?"

"Polistia."

Jack eyed the pile of papers filled with small type still clutched in her hands. There must have been a hundred pages there. He shook his head.

"We were only there twelve hours the first time, Carter."

"Yes, sir," Sam confirmed, an actual spark of interest in her eyes for the first time since they'd been back. "It's pretty amazing," she went on. "Daniel learned so much in just that meeting. And he figured it out, sir. I mean, the whole society. The military structure, the striving for glory. He saw it in their art, their questions, their clothes, the way some of the people reacted when Gahry and the others walked by. . . ."

Jack closed his eyes as the damn image flashed through his mind again: Daniel, eyes blazing, asking, _"__Isn't anyone else concerned that the Polistians are hiding something so basic, that they're _lying_ to us?"_

"Sir?" Carter asked, concern in her voice. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," he said, and almost added out of habit, "peachy," but stopped himself. Carter didn't need sarcasm right now. "I'm fine, Carter. So, you learn anything else?"

The spark of interest turned to frustration and then to searing worry that matched the feeling in his gut. "No, sir. There's so much here, and I'm trying, I'm trying. . . . I mean, Daniel's all alone, and it hurts so much. I keep seeing him lying there, suffering, and I need to help and I think there must be something here. But I start to concentrate and then the pain. . . ."

As if the pain heard her words, Sam stopped and gasped and let out a strangled cry. The hand holding the papers jerked, and Jack caught the sheaf before it hit the ground and grabbed Sam's hand with his other. The next sound to leave her lips was almost a growl of anger and despair, and then she whispered something so quietly he almost didn't hear it. But he did.

"Please," she whispered. "Make it stop."

**bbbbbbbbbbbbbb**

Eight hours.

It had been eight hours without contact from Polistia.

Hammond looked up from the paperwork on his desk for perhaps the hundredth time to stare through the window at the now-silent Stargate. He had tried to keep Gate activity to the bare minimum, canceling nonessential off-world missions, notifying off-world teams to keep their contact to scheduled check-ins and emergencies, but it was just not possible to stop using the Gate altogether. Had the Polistians tried to contact them already and been unable to establish a wormhole because the Gate was active? Or was this just part of their game?

A short, sharp rap came on the door, and Hammond shook his head as if to physically clear it of its dismal thoughts and straightened up.

"Come," he said.

The endlessly competent base CMO entered, a file under her arm, a businesslike expression on her face that couldn't hide the strain around her mouth or the weariness in her eyes. Hammond knew her shift had ended hours ago and that she had been working ceaselessly since oh six hundred. He glanced at the clock on his wall to confirm what he already knew, that it was fast approaching twenty-hundred hours.

"Doctor," he said, "sit down. Any progress?"

Janet sat on the edge of the chair as if not wanting to take the time to make herself comfortable. "Yes and no, sir. We have a better idea of how the poison works, but I'm afraid we're no closer to finding a solution."

She paused, and Hammond nodded at her to continue.

"I'm afraid that one thing we can say for the Polistians is, they know what they are doing. The poison is a complicated cocktail of ingredients, most of which are designed to cause debilitating pain: "phantom" pain, like that an amputee feels, except in this case throughout the body; a sort of misfiring of the nerve endings that's not only extremely painful in itself but also causes a hypersensitivity to what would normally just minor pain, even the prick of a hypodermic needle; and severe abdominal cramping and muscle spasms, which, in combination with the other effects. . . ."

Janet trailed off, perhaps at a loss for words to describe the level of agony Hammond knew Major Carter—and most certainly Dr. Jackson—were suffering.

Janet took a deep breath and went on. "We have had some success using muscle relaxants in treating the muscle spasms and cramping. Unfortunately, we still aren't able to treat the pain directly, since our tests show that every known pain medication, after a short time, results in an increased activity of the cells of the various 'ingredients.' of the poison."

"Meaning?" Hammond asked, although he was pretty certain he understood the point.

"Meaning any treatment we choose may well make the pain worse, or cause an as yet unknown adverse reaction."

Hammond nodded tiredly. He'd visited Major Carter twice in the infirmary, and while each time she'd tried to put on a brave front for his benefit, she'd clearly been in almost unbearable pain. And the thought of Dr. Jackson suffering the same and worse, without the benefit of any medical intervention or even a friend at his side. . . .

"I'm afraid there's more, sir," Janet spoke up. "I hope I'm wrong about this, and I haven't informed Major Carter yet, but. . . .

Hammond took a deep breath and braced himself for worse news. "Yes, Doctor?"

"As you know, both Teal'c and Colonel O'Neill have reported that they were told on PX0-4593 that Dr. Jackson would die within three days if he did not receive the antidote. At first we assumed the greatest danger of death was the risk of shock, caused by the extreme pain. But we've since discovered that something else in the poison has actually slightly, and very quickly, altered Major Carter's body chemistry, and we suspect that she has developed a physical dependence on the whatever that substance is."

"Addiction," Hammond stated.

"Basically, sir, yes."

"And you fear that the withdrawal symptoms could be fatal?"

"I'm afraid it is a real possibility. While death is very rare in patients suffering from withdrawal on Earth, I've learned the hard way not to make assumptions based on Earth medical norms."

"So we need to get or create an antidote or find another solution in less than three days," Hammond stated.

"I don't think we have even that long, General. Our latest tests on Major Carter's bloodwork indicate that the poison is already dissipating. If we are right in our theory that death may occur when the poison leaves the body—and again, I hope we're wrong—either the Polistians were mistaken or lying about the length of time, or some other factor, perhaps the relatively small amount Sam ingested, has changed the timeline.

"How much time do we have then, Doctor? Do you have an estimate?"

"If we don't find a solution, General, Major Carter could die before morning."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

_What if he'd killed Jack?_

The terror that possibility sent through Daniel had him up on his knees and trying to stand before he could even think about what he was doing. There must be some way to know, someone who must know. They must have been in contact with the SGC by now.

"Hey!" he tried to call. "Hey, I need to talk to someone!" but he could barely get the words through his throat, scraped dry as it was by his screams and a growing, desperate thirst. He forced himself to his feet and, hunched over like an old man, his injured hand held tightly to his body, he took a shaky step toward the door. "Hey!" he croaked again. There was no answer, and Daniel fell forward, going to his knees again and barely catching himself with his good hand before his face hit the floor. He shouted hoarsely as the violent movement jarred his broken fingers and shot flames through the rest of his body, and he took harsh, rasping breaths to try to control the pain, try and push it back.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, he cursed himself. Stupid for not knowing if he sent the right code. Stupid for trying to move. And stupid and for thinking that anyone here would tell him anything, for thinking that, even if someone came in response to his calls, whoever it was would do anything but hurt him more.

The thought had barely gone through his head when he heard the sound he'd come to both dread and hope for—dread for the greater pain and humiliation that always followed, hope for a bit of water and something, anything to distract him from the agony. The outer door swung open, there was a shouted order, and booted feet came stomping down the hall. Daniel, who was still bent over almost to the floor, pushed himself back and sat swaying on his knees, wondering if this time they would pass him by, slam open the door to some other cell.

But no. The footsteps stopped outside his door, and Gahry's voice—how he had come to despise that voice—snapped at the guard to open the door. Daniel shuffled back a foot on his knees as the door swung open. Gahry, who had changed from his ceremonial robes into the pale-blue pants and brass-buttoned tunic the Polistian bureaucrats favored, took a step into the room, wrinkled his nose as if in disgust and took a step back again. He looked to the pad and pencil on the floor and back at Daniel.

"Symbols," he said shortly. "What world have you given us?"

Daniel opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn't get any words out, making only a rasping sound.

Gahry rolled his eyes in annoyance and gestured to one of the thugs, who as always stood behind him, looking forward at some spot on the wall above Daniel's head. Thug One—Scarface, Daniel had decided some time ago, for the small scar above his right eyebrow—went to the bucket that Daniel knew was outside the door. Daniel listened to the sound of the cup being dipped in the water and kept himself very still, not wanting to beg and not wanting to do anything to cause Gahry to slam the door in his face before he could drink. His mouth was suddenly so dry, he found himself focusing on the burning pain and his pulsing, throbbing hand to keep himself from lurching toward the door and the wonderful, plinking sound of water dripping back from the cup into the bucket.

Scarface came into the cell and held the metal cup out to Daniel, and Daniel reached a shaking hand out to take it, but the thug let go too soon, and before Daniel could close his fingers, the cup dropped to the dirt floor, spilling its contents. At the sight Daniel almost lost the composure he was hanging onto by a thread. He looked up at Scarface in near panic and back down at the water that was rapidly sinking into the floor. It was all he could do to keep from putting his face down like a dog and lapping up the small bit still pooled there. The thug raised his hand and Daniel flinched, but the hand was raised palm out in a "wait" gesture, so Daniel waited as the man picked up the cup, walked past Gahry, who looked ready to stop him but kept his tongue, and again dipped the cup in the bucket. He brought the water back and this time held the cup to Daniel's lips, and Daniel drank, closing his eyes as he felt the cool liquid on his tongue, in his mouth, trickling down his raw throat. He drank the cup dry and would have licked the bottom if Scarface hadn't pulled the empty cup away. Daniel's eyes tracked the cup, and he almost asked for more, but he knew that would be useless.

"Thank you," he whispered instead to the man's back as the guard walked away. The guard hesitated almost imperceptibly but didn't respond and didn't turn around until he again took up his position next to his twin.

"The symbols!" Gahry spoke even more impatiently now, as if the brief delay had been an eternity.

Daniel looked up at him, trying to prepare himself for the blow he was certain was coming. "I told you," he rasped. "I can't tell you what I don't know."

**bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb**

Major Kovachek sat alone at a table in the far corner of the commissary nursing a cold cup of coffee and studying his notes while he waited, along with everyone else, for the Polistians to make contact. He and his team had screwed up, and screwed up badly, and he was going to do everything in his power to make it right.

_Too little, too late_, a voice in his head taunted, and the SG-9 team leader shoved the notes aside in frustration and ran his hand through his short-cropped hair. How had a run-of-the-mill negotiations with a backwater planet turned into this nightmare? Yes, he'd listened to Jackson's warnings along with everyone else that the Polistians were not the simple, straight-forward people they pretended to be; he'd seen for himself some of the signs Jackson had pointed out—the surreptitious glances among the ministers, the nervous or hostile reactions on the street of some of the people, the overly militaristic artwork, the fascination with military technology they had no hope of obtaining. . . . And yet, when Hammond had asked his impressions before he'd approved the treaty, Kovachek had discounted all of it, reporting that while the Polistians were obviously putting on an act for their benefit and probably had visions of future military glory dancing in their heads, they were basically _harmless_. Kovachek shook his head in disgust at the memory. He had long prided himself in his ability to read people, had built a career around it, but here he had bungled so badly Sam Carter and Jackson could very well pay for it with their lives.

How had he not seen this coming?

And then there was Gilbert. What a disaster. The kid was green, yes, with only three diplomatic missions under his belt, but, still, Kovachek could not understand how his lieutenant could have screwed up so badly. The official line to off-worlders who questioned why whatever team they'd first met wasn't continuing negotiations was always the same: SG-9 was the team tasked with diplomacy. End of story. Yet Gilbert had taken it upon himself to let numerous Polistians know that SG-1 was "too important" for treaty negotiations, that they were the "first-line" team and, worse, that Carter and Jackson were geniuses in their fields, that the SGC could not do without them.

The young lieutenant had gone ghostly pale during the briefing when he'd realized the role he'd played in the fiasco, and Kovachek had sat by, as stunned as the rest of them, as Gilbert, his voice stuttering, had confessed to having—"in the spirit of friendship," God help him—volunteered what he'd considered harmless details about not only SG-1 but also the SGC. Kovachek had trained Gilbert himself, had been sure he'd understood the importance of "need to know" when it came to negotiating off-world, yet the boy, eager to please and apparently completely taken in by the Polistians' hospitality and constant flattery, had let his mouth run as if he were a five-year-old on speed.

Kovachek grimaced as he took another sip of stale coffee. It would be his job to talk to the Polistians, they'd all agreed, his job, as he saw it, to try to undo some of the damage he and his team had done. So now he went back to his notes, methodically straightening the papers he'd thrown aside, then turning to the last pages, which contained what little they knew about this man Lioss. _Arrogant. Sadistic. Power-hungry. Delusional. Insane. _These were some of the words that had been used to describe the self-styled ruler of the "Polistian Empire." He needed to get inside this man's head, understand what made him tick, find a strategy that would, if not produce the antidote and Jackson's release, at least keep him talking long enough for other help to arrive.

Engrossed in his thoughts, Kovachek almost didn't notice the sudden, stark change in the atmosphere, but there it was—a rise in tension in the air, an almost electric charge skittering among the dozen or so personnel scattered about the tables. All chatter stopped, except for one awkward, loud laugh that was abruptly cut off, and then there was dead silence marred only by the buzz of the refrigerator motors and the sporadic clanking of dishes in the late-night kitchen. Kovachek closed his eyes briefly and swallowed a sigh. He knew who he'd see when he looked up; only one man on base could have that effect on a room.

O'Neill.

The colonel, unaware or unconcerned about the silence that had fallen at his entrance, stood in the doorway, tension radiating from him in waves, and scanned the room, his eyes resting on Kovachek for a split second then moving on. Then he crossed the room, limping slightly, to the glass refrigerators, where he stood staring at the meager selection for long enough that Kovachek suspected he wasn't actually seeing the contents. Watching surreptitiously, like virtually everyone else in the commissary, the major couldn't help but notice that O'Neill looked like hell. And who could blame him, really? If it had been _his_ team. . . . No, no, Kovachek wasn't going there, wasn't going to let that train of thought distract him, because of course, it _could_ have been his team, probably _would_ have been if Gilbert hadn't unintentionally made SG-1 a better target. _Hell. _It was probably a miracle O'Neill hadn't killed him yet.

During the briefing, as Gilbert had spilled his guts, Kovachek had turned toward O'Neill and seen such fury in the base 2IC's eyes that for a moment he'd actually feared for his lieutenant's life. But then O'Neill had turned those eyes on him, and he'd remembered that, above all, beyond the rumored special ops background and beyond the years of hard combat experience, O'Neill was a damn good officer, and he would never take his anger out on some green lieutenant. No, he would place the blame squarely where it belonged. So Kovachek had done his best to look back without flinching, taking in the accusation and accepting the responsibility. O'Neill had held his gaze, then nodded and turned back to the briefing. Message received: There'd be hell to pay later, but for now they had a job to do.

If they could.

Kovachek shook his head grimly and tried to pull himself together. Time was running short. From what he'd heard, if the Polistians didn't contact them soon, it would already be too late for Sam Carter, and who knew. . . .

The blaring of alarms startled him, almost causing him to knock his notes to the floor. O'Neill, who had pulled a sandwich from the refrigerator, dropped the plate with a clatter on the nearest table and headed for the door, even as the announcement came over the speakers—"Unscheduled off-world activation! Unscheduled off-world activation!" And then: "Colonel O'Neill, Major Kovachek, report to the control room immediately, report to the control room immediately."

Kovachek gathered up his papers and jumped up to follow the base 2IC out the door.

Showtime.

**bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb**

"He thinks that . . . the society was advanced technologically and . . . militarily until something . . . happened more than two hundred . . . years . . . ago to force them backward. . . ."

Teal'c listened gravely as Major Carter tried to tell him what she had learned from Daniel Jackson's notes, her pained gasps interrupting her words with increasing frequency. Dr. Fraiser had been unable to explain why the pain seemed to be getting worse as the poison dissipated, although she theorized that it might be the first sign of the withdrawal symptoms, symptoms that she feared would lead, inexorably, to Major Carter's death.

Teal'c once again forced back the rage that threatened to overwhelm him at the sight of the suffering of his friend and the thought that such a brilliant life could be destroyed by such a cowardly act. Anger would not serve him now. Instead, he would attempt to follow Major Carter's lead. Despite her agony and the knowledge of her own impending death, she would not give up. Where another would despair, would give in to the temptation to do nothing but scream at the fates that put her here, she instead persevered, searching in the only way she could for answers that might save Daniel Jackson.

While Teal'c had no great hope that her search would be successful, he would help in any way he could, until he could himself act more directly to save the lives of his teammates. If Major Carter would not surrender, neither would he.

"He thinks they . . . lost a . . . war . . . against an alien race . . . a great war, and as . . . punishment the . . . aliens . . . stripped Polistia of all technology . . . forbade . . . them. . . ." Major Carter's eyes widened and she let out a shout that turned to a groan. Teal'c leaned forward and reached for her hand.

"Shall I summon Dr. Fraiser?" he asked softly.

The major bit her lip and shook her head, seeming to hold her breath for a moment, the said, "No, Teal'c . . . thank . . . you. I . . . want to continue. These aliens . . . forbade them to rebuild their ar . . . my. Made it . . . law. . . . Maybe . . ."

The alarm announcing an unscheduled Gate activation sounded, and both Teal'c and Major Carter turned their heads toward the speaker, waiting. _"__Unscheduled off-world activation. Colonel O'Neill, Major Kovachek, report to the control room immediately, report to the control room immediately."_ Teal'c looked toward his friend, reluctant to leave her, but she squeezed his hand and said, simply, "Go." He nodded once and, ignoring his still healing injuries, headed at a run for the elevators.

**bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb**

". . . Supreme Marshal of the Polistian Empire, and I will not be kept waiting. If you value the lives of your comrades so little. . . ." the arrogant voice was saying as Kovachek followed O'Neill into the control room. General Hammond was already in the room, watching the viewscreen silently, as was SG-9's second, Nillson. Kovachek nodded at the two men as he slipped past O'Neill and slid into the seat the Master Sergeant Harriman quickly vacated. He took a deep breath, shaking off an uncharacteristic flare of nerves at the task before him. He had been point man on many equally grave negotiations, but this was the first crisis he had had a hand in creating, and the responsibility weighed heavily. He noticed Teal'c come into the room, limping slightly. The gang's all here, Kovachek thought inanely as he reached for the mike.

He mouthed "Lioss?" to Nillson, and at the affirmative nod, waited for the Polistian to finish his sentence, then keyed the mike. "Marshal Lioss. This is Major Kovachek of the SGC." Short and to the point was the way to go here. No flattery, no niceties. Meet arrogance with arrogance.

"Major Kovachek? The lesser officer sent to negotiate the treaty? Where is General Hammond?"

"The General is unavailable, Marshal. I am responsible for this . . . communication." He said the last word deliberately, with the slightest hint of a sneer, as if the word _negotiation _was too good for what was about to occur.

There was a silence as Lioss stared directly into the camera, his eyes narrowed and his teeth clenched in anger. Then, as if realizing that they could see him, he relaxed his stance and shrugged nonchalantly and smiled. "Very well, Major Kovachek. Here are our demands. If we use incorrect terminology to refer to any of the items on our list, please forgive us. . . .

Lioss paused as he looked at his list, and Kovachek took the opportunity to interrupt. "Marshal Lioss, before we continue, we need both proof that Dr. Jackson is alive, and proof that you can help him if he is still suffering from the effects of your poison. Otherwise this discussion is pointless."

Again, Lioss seemed angered by Kovachek's tone, but yet again he forced himself to smile. "I am afraid Dr. Jackson is not available at the moment, and it would take hours to bring him here. If you would prefer to wait. . . ." His smile grew broader. "Oh, but perhaps you don't feel you have the time. My scientists tell me that your Major Carter did not ingest much of her drink and therefore may not have much time left. I hope that doesn't come as too much of a shock. Did I neglect to tell you? When our potion leaves the body, the subject dies."

Kovachek heard O'Neill give almost a growl, and he had to suppress his own urge to try to reach through the wormhole and choke the life out of the man, but he kept his voice steady, as if talking about the price of grain. "Yes, we are aware of the 'potion's' properties. Nevertheless, we must have the proof I spoke of."

Lioss tilted his head as if listening to someone at his side, then smiled in satisfaction at whatever it was he heard. "Again," he said, "Dr. Jackson is otherwise occupied at the moment—I understand he is a most stubborn man—and too far from here for us to offer proof that he still lives, too far for even his screams to carry. . . ." _Bastard_, Kovachek thought, glancing back at General Hammond, who clearly shared his feeling. ". . . But we _can_ offer you proof of an antidote. We will send you a sample of the poison and a minuscule amount of the antidote, enough, my Minister of Science tells me, to show its effects on the sample, but not enough to reverse the damage done to Major Carter. We also have a 'voice recording'—is that what you people call it?—of your Dr. Jackson. It is several hours old, but I believe you will find it most . . . _informative_ . . . as well.

"If these things are not enough," the man continued smugly, "then we are happy to execute the traitors and their families, keep Dr. Jackson with us for as long as we find him useful, and leave Major Carter to her fate."

Kovachek waited a beat, then glanced again back at Hammond, who nodded. He waited a full thirty seconds more, then responded, "We will listen to your demands, but before we consider acting on any of them, we will still need to hear directly from Dr. Jackson."

Lioss drew himself up then and stared icily into the MALP camera. "I am Marshal Lioss of the Polistian Empire. _You _do not make demands of _me._"

_Insane_, thought Kovachek, remembering O'Neill's pointed description in the briefing. _Delusional_.

"Here are our demands," Lioss continued in the same tone of voice. "You will provide one thousand of your 'Goa'uld grenades,' one thousand of your explosive grenades, ten thousand of your automatic projectile weapons, and two hundred of what I believe you call 'nucloid' bombs, the ones, I suspect, that O'Neill wished to use to 'blow us into the next galaxy.' "

The men in the control room stared at the viewscreen with varying degrees of incredulity, and Kovachek found himself suddenly fighting a terrible urge to laugh at the utter absurdity of the demand. He opened his mouth to respond, closed it again, then took a long deep breath. Finally, after what was probably too long, he replied, evenly, "Is that all?"

Lioss, unaware—as Kovachek intended—that he was being mocked, said, simply, "For the time being, yes. Provide these things, and in return you will receive Dr. Jackson, still alive, and enough antidote for both your people."

Kovachek took another deep breath, hoping he was playing this right. "I will have to consult my superiors, and should they approve, it will take some time to gather the ordinance you have requested," he stated. Then forcing an almost bored quality into his voice, added, "Of course, if Major Carter dies in the meantime, they will be disinclined to comply with your demands."

"Ah, I see," Lioss responded, and seemed to be considering Kovachek's point. As before, he leaned his head and listened to a whispered voice, then nodded. "Very well, Major," he said into the MALP microphone, and Kovachek allowed himself to hope that they might at least get the antidote for Carter. "When we send through the other items we mentioned, we will send through an extra dose of the poison. If you wish to extend Major Carter's life, simply give her the extra dose, and she will likely survive for several more days. The pain of a second dose is far more severe than that of the first, but I am sure it is worth it for you to retain such a valuable asset."

As Lioss smiled his sadistic smile, Kovachek heard O'Neill curse in the background—"Son of a bitch!"—and felt Teal'c shift closer to the viewscreen. Wondering if Teal'c was about to grab the mike from him, Kovachek held up his hand to stop the Jaffa's forward motion and, swallowing his own disappointment and disgust, said, "I doubt your suggestion that we poison our own woman will go far in persuading my superiors of your good faith, Marshal."

"I believe there is an Earth expression that fits here, Major: 'Take it or leave it.' If you wish to receive the items I have mentioned, please open the barrier to your world, and I will have them sent through immediately. After that I will contact you again when I have deemed you have had sufficient time to talk to your 'superiors.' Do not attempt to contact us. . . . The items are coming through now." And with that the viewscreen went blank.

"Son of a bitch," O'Neill said again. Hammond, ignoring his 2IC, leaned over Kovachek and spoke into the mike for the Gateroom. "Stand ready, people," he ordered, and the extra Marines he'd had the foresight have standing by, aimed their weapons at the Gate. Hammond nodded to Walter, and Walter hit the button opening the iris. A moment later, a small metal box flew from the event horizon and landed with a clatter on the ramp, and the event horizon blinked out.

**bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb**

Daniel braced himself for the blow he was sure was coming, and true to form, Gahry stepped forward, an enraged look on his face. Overcoming his apparent disgust at Daniel's state, he grabbed the front of Daniel's tee-shirt and pulled him half off the floor."You can't tell us?" Gahry shouted. "You _can't_? You _will_!" There was anger in his voice, but something else, too, maybe fear? What the hell did Gahry have to be afraid of? Daniel wondered. Lioss? Was he afraid of Lioss?

Gahry shoved Daniel backward, letting him fall, and stepped away, wiping his hand on his pants. He was breathing heavily and didn't say anything for several long seconds. Finally, through gritted teeth, he hissed, "Last chance. Give me the symbols, now."

Daniel, his body wracked with the new pain his hard fall to the floor brought, didn't bother to answer. He wondered if by 'last chance' Gahry meant he was going to kill him, and Daniel, worn down by his mental and physical agony, almost found himself wishing they would.

"Very well," Gahry said. He spun around and pushed past the twin thugs. "Do it," he said to them as he stomped down the hall.

Despite his wish of just a moment before, Daniel felt a shock of fear at Gahry's words. This was it? This was really how it was going to end? As the two men stepped into his cell, he wondered how they were going to do it. Would they break his neck? Slit his throat? Bash his head in?

Daniel, one more time, struggled to rise, to face his captors with some small shred of dignity. His heart was thudding painfully in his chest, and the air in the tiny, dark cell seemed suddenly too close and heavy to breathe.

"Please, God," he prayed silently, "just let it be quick."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

The sounds were dismally clear, each rasping breath, each pained gasp and groan, as the recording whirred on, courtesy of one of the small devices the SGC had itself provided to the Polistians as gifts during the negotiations. Jack stared resolutely at the briefing room table wishing he could be anywhere else other than hearing what he was hearing.

"_. . . . Marshal Lioss has granted my request that I be the one to interrogate you."_

"_Oh."_ Resigned, not surprised.

"_You have information we require if we are to return the Polistian regime to its time of glory. That and the weapons your people will provide to save your life will guarantee our empire shall last a millennium and beyond. It shall dwarf all others that have come before it."_

"_Right." _Almost a sigh.

"_We can make your pain go away, or we can make it a thousand times worse."_

Silence.

"_You will give us the coordinates to every inhabited world you know, starting with the more primitive."_

There was a rustling, a cough, then the sound of deliberate, long, slow, shaky breaths.

Jack looked toward Teal'c and gave a grim smile. They both recognized what Daniel was doing, what he was trying to do. _Breathe, Daniel, breathe_, Jack thought. _That's right. Ignore the rat bastard_. Teal'c gave a grave nod back, and they allowed themselves a moment of unspoken pride in their teammate. But then both their eyes shot back to the recorder in the middle of the table as there was the unmistakable sound of flesh being struck and a crack that Jack fervently hoped was not the sound of a breaking bone.

There was a loud cry, and then a sob and a groan, then nothing again but the sound of breathing, this time fast, hiccuping gasps as if the oxygen had been sucked from the room.

_Son of a bitch, son of a bitch, son of a bitch_, Jack found himself cursing inwardly, over and over.

Then Gahry's voice again: _"Give us the symbols. Let's start with one planet. There must be a world you don't care about, a world in need of a new order. For just one, I can make the pain go away for as long as I wish. A minute, an hour. . . ."_

"_Don't know any." _Barely a whisper.

"_But you do. One of your colleagues on SG-9 told us. Gilbert? I believe the young man idolizes you, Dr. Jackson. He says you know more 'Gate addresses,' as you call them, than anyone else possibly in the universe. His words, not mine."_

Jack looked across the table at Kovachek and saw the normally self-composed major staring stonily ahead, his jaw tightly clenched. Nillson, seated next to his team leader, closed his eyes and slowly shook his head.

"_Not me. He must. . . ."_ A sharp intake of breath.

"_He must what, Dr. Jackson?"_

There was no answer, just a rapid gasping, then a ragged, strangled cry. An odd, rhythmic thumping came from the recorder accompanied by almost inhuman-sounding grunts, and Jack couldn't understand what was happening until his mind flashed on Carter as the spasms shook her body.

Still the first scream took him by surprise, a long piercing wail. Then there was another and another and another. Seconds ticked by, and then minutes, and still Daniel screamed, until Jack couldn't bear it anymore. He reached forward, grabbed the recorder and switched it off, then tossed the device back to the table. His hand was shaking, and he clenched his fist to stop it.

"Colonel," Hammond chastised. "You know we have to know what's on the recording."

Jack didn't respond at first as he tried to swallow the rage that threatened to choke him, and when he did answer, it was to a question that hadn't been asked.

"We have to go get him," he said.

"Colonel. . . ." Hammond started.

"No, sir, you don't understand. They're not going to give him back. They're going to torture him and kill him, and they're going to leave Carter to die."

"And the other people the Polistians are holding?" Hammond asked.

Teal'c answered in Jack's stead. "Lioss is no better than a Goa'uld. He will eventually kill the hostages regardless of our actions. He would not allow any challenge to his authority go unpunished."

"He's right, sir," Jack added. "Those people don't stand a chance if we _don't_ go through the Gate."

Hammond was silent, considering what they'd said, but Jack could tell from the look in his eyes that he was defeated even before he'd begun to fight.

"I'm sorry, Colonel, Teal'c," the general finally said. "If I thought that it was likely that you would be able to rescue Dr. Jackson and retrieve the antidote, I would send you through now. But the Gate is heavily guarded, and we don't know the location of either Dr. Jackson or the antidote. There are just too many unknowns, and precipitous action could well speed the casualties we are trying to avoid."

Jack started to speak, but Hammond held up his hand.

"I may reconsider at a later point, and I fully expect plans for an assault should we persuade the Polistians to allow us to dial their Gate on the pretext of sending through the weapons they have requested, but I'm afraid for now our best and only course is to wait.. . . ."

"General. . . ." Jack tried again, but Hammond shook his head. "I'm sorry, Colonel, you have my decision. In the meantime, I'm afraid we need to listen to the rest of the recording in case there is some intelligence that bears on the situation. However, it isn't necessary for all of us to stay. Colonel, if you'd rather. . . ."

The offer hung in the air, but Jack was still trying to process the idea that they weren't going to burst through the Gate and rip Lioss, Gahry and the rest of them to pieces, that they weren't going to do anything to stop Daniel's torture, so it was a moment before he realized what his CO was saying. When he did, he shook his head sharply. As much as he wanted to flee, to _not _know what was on the recording, Jack couldn't. It would be like abandoning Daniel—again.

"No, sir. I'll stay."

"Very well. Major, if you would."

Kovachek, who hadn't said a word throughout the entire proceeding, nodded and reached for the recorder. He took a deep breath, steeled his expression again, and flicked it on.

**bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb**

Daniel Jackson's screams still echoed in Teal'c's ears even now as he strode down the corridor at O'Neill's side. The recording hadn't lasted long after the interminable cries of pain had ended. There had been derisive laughter from Minister Gahry, more insults, interrogation . . . more beating. Little intelligence had been gained from listening to their friend's suffering. They knew now with certainty that the Polistians sought information on other worlds to conquer; they had confirmation that Gahry and the others took their orders from Lioss. Nothing more. Nothing but the knowledge Lioss had intended: that Daniel Jackson's agony was beyond what they had imagined.

When the recording had ended, Captain Nillson had blurted, "How can they do that? How can they hurt him when he's already. . . .?" He hadn't finished, realizing, perhaps, how naïve his question sounded to the experienced warriors who surrounded him, and no one had bothered to answer, to tell him what they all knew and what he would soon learn: There was no limit to the evil men would do.

Still, Teal'c felt a sort of envy for young man and his naiveté and momentarily wished he too could ask such a question, that he too could find Gahry's actions beyond his understanding. But such was not his fate. He would gladly kill Lioss and Gahry for torturing Daniel Jackson and Major Carter—and he fervently hoped he would be given the opportunity—but judge them he could not. For in the name of the false god Apophis he had tortured, maimed and killed many times over.

And he had done so for a cause he knew to be a lie.

Teal'c glanced at O'Neill as they walked. His warrior brother, seething with anger and fear for their comrades, seemed hardly aware of their surroundings. Was he contemplating the fate of his young teammates and plotting their rescue and his revenge, or was he too remembering a past he was less than proud of? O'Neill spoke rarely of his days in "black operations," but Teal'c knew his friend had done many things which troubled his soul, many things which, perhaps, he now regretted. Yet O'Neill, Teal'c reminded himself, had acted for a cause he believed in, the safety and security of his countrymen. And, Teal'c was certain, O'Neill had never enjoyed the harm he no doubt inflicted.

That characteristic he and O'Neill shared. Teal'c had despised his every brutal move as First Prime to the false god Apophis.

Yet Gahry had listened to Daniel Jackson's screams and laughed with pleasure.

Teal'c did not fool himself into thinking that his remorse for his deeds and his attempt to live an honorable life now made any difference to those he had tortured and killed; they still suffered terribly, they still died. And should he someday face just punishment for his past, as he had on the planet of the Cor-ai, he would again accept it as his due.

Yet though he knew it to be foolish, Teal'c deep in his heart clung to the differences between himself and those like Gahry, those without feeling, honor or just cause. To believe himself no better than. . . .

"Teal'c?"

O'Neill's concerned voice drew him from his thoughts, and Teal'c realized they were standing outside the infirmary.

"I am fine, O'Neill," Teal'c stated in response to the unasked question. The colonel stared at him, then nodded and turned back toward the doors, taking a moment to compose his features before he entered, obviously hoping to hide the depth of his anger and frustration from their ill teammate. Teal'c suspected that Major Carter would "see through" this attempt, even in the midst of her suffering, but he approved of the effort; they had no desire to upset her. They had come to discover if the Polistians had indeed sent through a sample of the antidote, and, if so, it could be used to produce more. If not, they hoped that Dr. Fraiser could confirm that ingesting more of the poison, as horrific a prospect as that was, would prolong Major Carter's life until another solution could be found.

Teal'c and O'Neill pushed through the doors together and started for Major Carter's bed. Dr. Fraiser was at her side speaking too quietly for them to hear, but Major Carter's response, through labored breathing, was clear:

"No. No, I . . . won't do that."

O'Neill stepped forward and addressed both the his teammate and the doctor. "Carter?" he said. "Doc? What's going on?"

"Colonel, I'm sorry, this is a private. . . ."

"It's . . . all right. . . . They can stay."

Dr. Fraiser hesitated as if she felt Major Carter's decision were not a wise one, and O'Neill interceded again. "Doc?"

The dedicated doctor looked to her patient, who nodded, then turned to the two of them. Teal'c noticed with concern that his young female teammate looked extremely pale, and that both her hands were trembling. Her eyes were bright with pain, her breathing was rough and uneven, far worse than when he had last talked to her. A tank of oxygen was at her side, and an oxygen mask was temporarily pulled down below her chin. Daniel Jackson's notes had been set aside by someone in a neat stack on the table at her side. Teal'c turned his attention to Dr. Fraiser, not optimistic that her news would be good.

"I've explained to Major Carter," she said, "that we still don't have an antidote, and that I'm not certain that we will find a solution in time to . . . to stop the poison's progression. The only other option we have so far is another dose of the poison. Major Carter has made it clear that she will not consider that option."

O'Neill drew in a sharp breath. "Carter?" he said.

Major Carter, who had closed her eyes as Dr. Fraiser spoke, opened them again a looked toward O'Neill, a man Teal'c knew she respected beyond all others.

"I'm . . . sorry, Sir . . . I won't."

"Your just giving up?" O'Neill asked sharply, and both Teal'c and Dr. Fraiser looked at him in surprise at his harsh tone.

"Colonel," Janet admonished. "I know I told you you could stay, but I think you'd better step away for a minute so I can talk to Sam—to Major Carter—privately."

O'Neill looked at his second in command, and she stared back at him, unblinking. He started to say something else, but then he simply nodded and stepped away to the other side of the infirmary. Teal'c followed and stood by his friend's side. O'Neill, his eyes still dark with frustration and anger, snapped, "Don't say it, Teal'c, all right?" and turned away. Teal'c, who'd had no intention of speaking, remained silent, and they both pretended not to listen to the murmuring voices: Dr. Fraiser's no-nonsense yet somehow still comforting tone and Major Carter's weak, rasping replies.

The conversation ceased, and the doctor walked slowly across the room to where they stood. She gave a brief shake of her head to the question in their eyes, then said, "I can't force her, Colonel."

"Can't you?"

"No, I can't. And even if I could, I wouldn't."

"Damn it, Doc," O'Neill said, his voice low but urgent. "She's dying."

Dr. Fraiser didn't respond for a moment as she seemed to struggle with her own emotions.

"Yes," she said finally. "She is."

Even though he already knew it to be the truth, Teal'c felt his heart skip a beat at the doctor's stark confirmation, and his symbiote twisted sickeningly.

"Yes," Dr. Fraiser repeated. "She is dying. The poison is dissipating at a much more rapid rate than we anticipated. Major Carter understands that. You know how hard she has fought, Colonel, Teal'c, but now she is choosing not to subject herself to even greater agony for the small chance that we will be able to find a solution before she is again faced with death. I wish her decision were different, but I can't fault her for making it."

"Nor can I," Teal'c said, speaking for the first time. Major Carter was one of the strongest people—Jaffa or human—that Teal'c had ever known. For her to prefer death to another dose of the poison, the pain must indeed be beyond bearing, perhaps even beyond his experience.

Jack snapped his head toward Teal'c with a look of disbelief on his face. "Well I can. I can fault her," he said, and before Dr. Fraiser could stop him, he strode back across the room to Major Carter's bed.

"Carter!" he snapped. Their gravely ill teammate, who had placed the mask back on her face and had her eyes closed tightly against the pain, turned her head in his direction and opened her eyes.

"You are not giving up, do you hear me? We _will_ find a way, Carter, and you _will _give us the time to do it." She started to shake her head, but he didn't wait for her to finish. "No, you listen to me, Major. You give up on yourself, you are giving up on Daniel too. Is that what you want? Daniel needs you now, and you know he will need you when we get him back. You will not abandon him, Major, and that's a goddam order."

O'Neill ended his tirade and stood his ground. Dr. Fraiser started forward, but Teal'c reached out and touched her arm and shook his head minutely when she looked back at him. She pursed her lips in disapproval but stayed where she was. For a long moment there was not sound in the infirmary but for the beeping of the machinery and the rasp of Major Carter's breathing, louder now against the silence. She stared up at the colonel, not saying a word, and Teal'c wondered what silent communication might be passing between them. Finally, not taking her eyes off O'Neill, Major Carter pulled down the mask and said hoarsely, "Janet?"

Dr. Fraiser came over to her side and leaned over. Teal'c took a step forward to hear.

"Yes, Sam," she asked, gently.

"Promise me. Prom . . . ise you'll . . . wait until . . . the . . . last possible . . . the last minute."

"Are you saying that you consent to another dose of the poison, Sam—if we wait as long as possible?"

Major Carter bit her bottom lip and closed her eyes, then opened them again and looked at Janet. "Yes,"

she said.

"You know Colonel O'Neill can't order you to do this, Sam."

Major Carter turned her eyes back to O'Neill.

"I know," she said.

O'Neill looked steadily back at her, and neither said another word. Dr. Fraiser paused a moment longer, then nodded decisively. "All right, Sam. We'll continue to monitor your condition, and I'll try to give you as much warning as possible. In the meantime," she said, placing the mask back on her patient's face, "please keep the mask on, all right?"

She waited for her patient to nod, then left to give instructions to the nurses on duty. Teal'c watched as O'Neill continued to hold Major Carter's gaze until she jerked suddenly and gave a small cry, then turned away and closed her eyes. O'Neill winced then and his face crumpled for the slightest instant in a grimace of remorse and grief. He reached behind him for a chair and pulled it forward and sat down slowly, then reached out as if to put his hand on Major Carter's arm, but then he drew it back and lowered it to the edge of the bed.

Teal'c too pulled up a chair and sat on the other side of the bed. He hesitated briefly, then took Major Carter's hand gently in his, doing what O'Neill apparently felt he had forfeited the right to do. O'Neill gave him a small smile of gratitude and Teal'c nodded in understanding. Soon they would have to leave to formulate an assault plan on Polistia should the moment arise, but for now they would wait here at their teammate's side.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

The two thugs stepped into the cell, filling it almost completely with their double bulk. Even if Daniel could have forced his exhausted, pain-wracked body to flee, there was nowhere to go, so he stayed where he was, swaying on his knees, holding his broken hand tightly to his side. The men loomed over him, eyeing him speculatively as if considering the best way to proceed, and Daniel wondered, not for the first time, if they were unable to speak or had been ordered not to. Then Thug Two put his hand on the hilt of the knife at his side and looked to his partner. Daniel also looked at the other man, hoping for some small sign of the humanity he'd shown him earlier, but Scarface hesitated for only a moment before shrugging nonchalantly and nodding, and Thug Two pulled the gleaming knife from its sheath.

Daniel's eyes widened at the sight and without thinking shuffled backward the scant six inches to the wall behind him. Not wanting to show them his fear, he tried to pull himself together, to stare stoically ahead and not to think how much more he was going to hurt when the knife sliced through skin and muscle, how the poison would send that new agony ripping through him before he died, but his gaze kept returning hypnotically to the evil-looking blade. _Oh, god. _With what felt like a Herculean effort, he forced his eyes from the weapon to face of the man who would kill him, but Thug Two had turned to watch Scarface leave the cell.

When the oversized guard turned back, he didn't return Daniel's stare; instead he looked up and down Daniel's body almost clinically, then he raised the knife, and Daniel, who had just decided he would not go without a fight, had time only to let out a small gasp of fear before the man reached for him and with quick surgical motions sliced again and again through Daniel's tee-shirt, so that it dropped to the floor in tatters. Daniel, whose heart was thudding so painfully in his chest he thought he would pass out, at first couldn't understand what had happened. Was he cut? Was it some kind of sick game the man was playing before he finished the job?

Then Thug Two sheathed the knife, squatted down and reached for Daniel's belt.

Daniel instinctively hit out with his good hand, striking the thug hard in the jaw, and the big man cursed and punched him in the side of the head, knocking him to the floor and onto his broken fingers. Daniel screamed as the pain rocketed through him, but still he forced himself to roll to the other wall. He started to push himself up, but the thug was on him already. He yanked Daniel up by his hair with one hand and pulled his fist back to strike again, and Daniel closed his eyes and braced himself for the blow, hoping that this might be the one to finally send him to unconsciousness. But the blow never came. Instead, there was only the hard slapping sound of skin hitting skin and a low grunt of annoyance.

Daniel, still held half off the ground by his hair, opened his eyes slowly and saw Thug Two's fist, mere inches away, clenched tightly in Scarface's hand. The muscles in both men's arms bulged and the hands shook as they struggled, then Thug Two blinked slowly and looked down at his fist and then at his hand in Daniel's hair, as if until that moment he'd had no idea what he'd been about to do. He relaxed his stance and Scarface let go of his fist, then reached for Daniel to lower him slowly to the ground as Thug Two released his hair. Except for that first curse when Daniel had struck out, neither man had said a word, and now the only sound was Daniel's ragged breathing punctuated by his soft moans and gasps as he lay trembling in the dirt. His broken hand and bruised and beaten body pulsed unbearably and the other pain swept through him in waves, as if he were diving in and out of a fiery surf. Even his thoughts ran white hot as they sped confusedly round and round. _Rape?_ Were they going to rape him? Why? Out of simple cruelty? Or to try to break him, to make him give up other worlds of people to murder and torture? And what kind of men could be so businesslike about it, so bored? And why would Scarface stop Thug Two from. . . ?

His scattered thoughts were interrupted by a hand on his arm, and he opened eyes he hadn't realized he'd closed and turned his head to see Scarface staring at him intently. Once he had Daniel's attention, he held up a bundle before him. Daniel squinted at the bundle and saw that it was some kind of clothing, pants and a shirt. Then Scarface handed the bundle back to Thug Two and held up a bucket and a wet, soapy sponge that he'd obviously brought back into the cell with him and gestured toward Daniel's body.

It took a moment, and then Daniel let out a sound that was half a sob and half a laugh. Not rape then. Their orders were to clean him up and change his clothes, to . . . make him presentable? But for what? What possible reason could they have?

Daniel sucked in a deep breath when an explanation occurred to him. _No, no,_ he thought, _don't fool yourself_, but still Daniel couldn't suppress a tiny glimmer of hope. Was Gahry's fear and anger because the minister had run out of time? Had his team finally come for him? Was he going home? Was. . . ?

But before he could finish the thought, he felt the sudden stab of pain in his chest that always proceeded the horrible convulsions. He let out a gasp and gritted his teeth as the first spasm hit him, this one in his gut, tightening and releasing with a force that caused his whole body to jump and almost leave the ground. As his arms and legs started to jerk, and his neck twisted his head almost to his shoulder and he started to scream his now almost-silent scream, he heard another curse, and a shouted order in a language his mind automatically categorized, even in his torment, as a dialect of the outer provinces. So, they _can_ talk, was Daniel's last clear thought before he forgot everything but the pain.

Seconds, minutes, hours later, he didn't know, he felt hands on either side of his head holding it tight against the spasms, and then something touched his lips and a sour liquid was poured into his mouth. Unable to control the jerking of his body, he sputtered and almost choked, but the grip tightened on his head and more of the sour drink was poured down his throat. Still unable to process anything but his agony, he coughed and swallowed, and the hands released his head to let it bounce helplessly with the rest of him.

Then a strange thing began to happen. It started in his chest and moved slowly upward to his head and outward through his limbs to his hands and feet, until it reached even his broken fingers: Daniel started to go numb. Even as his body continued to jerk and jump, the pain became . . . submerged. Daniel wondered if maybe he was dying, if his body was shutting down nerve-ending by nerve-ending, but he found he couldn't care. For the first time since this whole horrible ordeal had begun, nothing _hurt_.

The last spasm finally shook him, and he lay still. His mind felt sluggish, as if he were thinking through cotton gauze, and he wasn't sure if it was another effect of whatever they'd given him or just because of his utter exhaustion. He sensed the two thugs were still there, watching him, but he didn't move or open his eyes. If he moved it might all come back, all the pain, so he lay still and let himself begin to drift into that netherworld between sleeping and waking. Then their hands were on him again, pulling the scraps of his tee-shirt from around him, and yanking at his belt. His eyes popped open and he shook his head, holding his hand out to stop them. They might not mean him harm, but he couldn't bear the thought of being undressed by these men. "Let me!" he rasped, but Thug Two simply knocked his hand away as Scarface continued to pull at his filthy clothes. The men worked quickly, sometimes glancing up nervously toward the door, and Daniel realized that his latest "episode" must have put them behind schedule. He sighed and lowered the hand he'd started to raise again to grab Scarface's arm. The pain might be gone for now, but he knew he couldn't fight in his state, not really, and how stupid would it be to risk more injury just to avoid a little humiliation? So he turned his head, closed his eyes and forced himself to relax as the men worked quickly to strip him, lifting and manipulating his body as if he were some floppy mannequin.

When he was naked, hopelessly exposed, Thug Two shook his shoulder and motioned for Daniel to stand. Daniel pushed himself up shakily to a sitting position, and the two men pulled him the rest of the way to his feet. They stepped away, leaving him swaying, and Scarface picked up a bucket—Daniel saw now that there were two buckets—and tossed its contents at Daniel. The water was an icy cold that Daniel could feel even through the numbness, and he staggered back at the shock of it, but it somehow felt, also, wonderful. Then Thug Two lifted the second bucket, walked around Daniel and poured the soapy water over his head and down his back. Some of the water dripped down his face, and Daniel caught it with his tongue, soap and all, sucking it into his sand-dry mouth. He jumped then froze when he felt something move against his stomach, and he saw that Scarface had picked up the wet sponge and begun to clean him. With no expression on his face, the big man wiped Daniel down, front and back, removing the layer of dirt and sh**. Daniel tried to remain expressionless as well, but he couldn't stop himself from flinching at each touch, even as he told himself that it was only degrading if he allowed it to be. Then both men were at his side, dressing him in the baggy pants and rough shirt, and some sort of slippers—when had they taken his boots?—as if he were a small child. Scarface was surprisingly gentle with his broken hand, even though he must have known he couldn't feel it, and for the second time Daniel felt moved to thank the man.

Scarface just nodded, not meeting his eyes, and Thug Two let out a sharp bark of a laugh, whether at his partner's embarrassment or his actions Daniel couldn't tell. And then they were out of the cell, walking quickly, Daniel stumbling to keep up, down the hallway toward the courtyard and outer gate, toward fresh air and, maybe, Daniel let himself hope again, release?

They walked out into a balmy night, and Daniel stumbled again, then stopped, savoring the feel of the breeze on his still-wet skin. He wasn't sure how long he'd been stuck in the tiny, airless cell, but it had felt like an eternity. Thug Two jerked his arm, none too gently, and Daniel started forward again for the outer gate and the Stargate that loomed above the prison's walls, barely a kilometer away. He allowed himself to imagine that his teammates were waiting for him there, all well and in one piece, that the iris had opened in time for Jack, that Teal'c's symbiote had healed him, that Janet had been able to help Sam.

He almost leaned forward with his thoughts, but wherever they were going, it was not the Stargate. They turned before they got to the outer gate and headed along the wall in the direction of another large building on the prison grounds. Daniel felt his hopes dim as they walked toward the entrance, but he reminded himself that the Polistians were overly fond of ceremony. Perhaps he would be handed off to an SGC representative inside the building?

Two uniformed guards stood unmoving on either side of the thick, ornate wooden door set in a windowless stone wall. When they approached, one of the guards reached over and swung open the door, and Daniel and his "escort" stepped into a small, dim, room, empty but for two large paintings depicting violent battlefield scenes. These were no images of men on horseback, swords drawn; rather they depicted men with what looked like laser weapons of some sort, with airships hovering overhead. Daniel squinted nearsightedly to look more closely, but Thug Two pushed him ahead of them, and they walked to a door on the far side of the room. _Please_, thought Daniel, _let Jack be there, alive, and waiting with a dozen Marines_. Scarface looked at Thug Two, who squared his shoulders then nodded, and Scarface knocked firmly on the door. A voice called, "In!" and the three men entered.

Even as the men at his side snapped to attention, Daniel felt his hopes plummet. No Jack, no Teal'c or Sam. No one at all from the SGC. Just. . . .

Lioss.

The man sat behind a large table in a throne-like plush red chair. There was nothing on the table but a goblet and a large book opened to what appeared to be a list. Great murals, clearly hundreds of years old, surrounded him on three walls showing more battle scenes, some with an obviously alien race of tall, skeletally thin humanoids with blue-gray skin. The room was brightly lit—unusual on Polistia, where an electricity-like energy source seemed available but rarely used—and otherwise without adornment but for a plain wooden chair set in the center of the room facing Lioss's "throne."

Lioss stared at Scarface and Thug Two coldly. He let a full minute pass and then another, before he finally spoke. "You're late," he said slowly, and the menace in his voice was unmistakable.

Scarface and Thug Two kept their eyes forward. Scarface, in his accented English, said, "Yes, sir, Supreme Marshal. We are late."

Lioss again said nothing, letting the silence stretch, and Daniel realized it was a deliberate tactic, and an effective one when combined with the coldness of the man's stare.

"When we are finished with this business," Lioss said when he deemed enough time had passed, "you will be punished for your transgression. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir!" both men snapped out.

Lioss stared at the twin thugs for another long moment, then turned to Daniel. "And you. . . ." he started to say, with so much venom in his voice Daniel almost took a step backward. Lioss stopped and Daniel watched fascinated as the man's struggle for calm played out on his face until his muscles stretched themselves into a smile that was more terrifying than his anger.

_He is truly insane_, Daniel thought. And then, with dismal finality, _And I'm never going home._

"And you," Lioss repeated in a tight but more even tone, "you have now become my problem. Gahry was an unimaginative fool—_Was? _Daniel thought, and he felt his bile rise. He felt no pity for the man, had in fact many times wished him dead, but to think he was killed for, for what? For not being an effective enough torturer. . . .? Daniel's mind reeled, and he had to force himself to concentrate on Lioss's words.

". . . but you, I think," the madman was saying, "need other methods of persuasion. Therefore, I have decided to remove your pain temporarily in order that you be able to think clearly and understand the consequences of your actions."

As Daniel contemplated those words, Lioss stood up suddenly, turned and started walking to a plain wooden door on the side of the large room below one of the murals. Without looking back, he said, "Bring him," and threw open the door and walked through.

Scarface and Thug Two, who still stood at his side, took him by either arm and propelled him toward the door, neither man looking him in the face. Daniel tripped and fell, and they pulled him up till he found his feet, then kept moving quickly behind their commander. Through the door was a long, dim corridor with nothing on the walls or floor, only another door at the end. Lioss reached that door, swung it open and waited.

Not being able to see what lay beyond the door, Daniel unconsciously slowed his steps, but the men at his side pulled him relentlessly forward. He drew in a deep breath to try to keep the fear at bay, but it didn't help. He didn't know what Lioss had in mind, but he knew it had to be very, very bad.

When they reached the end of the corridor, Lioss stepped inside the room, and they followed. It was dark, darker than the hallway, and at first Daniel couldn't make out what he was seeing, could only smell an odor that made his stomach clench, the familiar stench of blood, sweat and fear. As his eyes adjusted, he made out four figures slumped against the wall to his left, their arms hanging above them in chains. Daniel's mouth, already painfully dry, went dryer.

"What...?" he started to ask in his hoarse whisper, but Lioss snapped, "I did not give you permission to speak." He nodded to Thug Two, who stepped around the door and turned up the flame on the gas lantern that hung on the wall. There was a moan from the direction of the chained prisoners, and Daniel looked over in time to see one of them, a middle-aged man, groan again and turn his head from the light. Daniel, however, could not look away. Instead he stared in horror at the sight before him. Four people hung, naked, from the chains, one an elderly woman and two a boy and a girl who couldn't have yet turned eighteen. They had all been beaten and whipped, blood still flowing freely from cuts on their arms, chests and legs, and all hung limply from their chains, their knees bent at awkward angles.

Daniel felt a surge of anger, and ignoring the earlier warning not to speak, turned and took a step toward Lioss. Thug Two and Scarface reached out for him, but Lioss, who was smiling again, shook his head and they dropped their arms.

"You sick son of a bitch!" Daniel rasped. "What could they possibly have done to deserve this? What. . . ?"

"Now, now, Dr. Jackson," Lioss interrupted, suddenly the gracious host. "All will be explained in good time. Please, have a seat." He gestured to a small square table in the middle of the room with a straight-backed wooden chair facing toward the prisoners. On the table was a pitcher and a glass.

Daniel gaped at him and didn't move, and Lioss this time nodded at his guards and they took him by the arms, steering him to the chair and pushing him into the seat. There was no gentleness from either man this time, not under the gaze of their commander.

"Please, have some water," Lioss said then, and, after a beat. "I assure you, it _is _water."

Daniel looked at the pitcher before him and unconsciously ran his sandpapery tongue over his lips. _Water._ He imagined the sweet taste in his mouth and had even started reaching for the container, but then he stopped himself. He turned his eyes to the four people hanging from their chains, who now themselves stared at the pitcher with looks of despair and longing, and he slowly put his good hand back in his lap.

"No," he said. He wouldn't be a party to their torture.

Lioss looked from Daniel to the tortured prisoners and smiled again as if he'd just won a bet. "I see," he said, smugly, "Well, that is your choice. Let us get right to business then. You asked what these people have done to deserve this treatment. That child there," he said, pointing to the girl, "joined a treasonous organization dedicated to overthrowing the rightful government of the Polistian Empire and had the greater audacity to publicly protest our preordained remilitarization policy. As is the law, she and her family must suffer the consequences."

Daniel closed his eyes. The girl had spoken out against Lioss. The others were accused of nothing other than being her relations. And for this, they had all been brutally tortured. He wondered, not for the first time, how the universe, Earth included, could produce such monsters.

"And why am I here?" Daniel asked wearily, his voice still little more than a whisper. He hadn't bothered to open his eyes, but he could hear the satisfaction in Lioss's voice as the man responded.

"You are here to save them, of course."

Daniel opened his eyes and looked at Lioss.

"Simply give us the information we have asked for, and they shall be released. Fail to give us the information and, of course, they shall be killed. I think your choice is clear, don't you, Dr. Jackson?"

When Daniel didn't answer, he went on: "We will start with one 'address,' to show your good faith. It must be a populated world with settlements nearby the Great Circle. Is that understood?"

Daniel opened his mouth to respond then closed it again.

"Is that understood?" This time the steel had returned to Lioss's voice.

"Yes," Daniel said. He understood only too well.

"Good then. Take some time. Get to know the traitors whose lives are now in your hands. I will return shortly for the symbols." Lioss gestured to Thug Two, who pulled Daniel's notebook and pen, now soiled from the filth of his cell, from a pocket of his vest and placed it on the table in front of Daniel. Lioss nodded again and pulled open the door, and the two thugs left the room, then Lioss followed, closing the door behind him. There was the sound of a lock sliding into place and then silence.

Daniel sat motionless for a moment with his eyes closed again, ignoring the slight rattling of the chains coming from the far wall. Since the beginning, even as he was tortured, his mind had furiously shuffled through the worlds he knew, trying to come up with one he could give them if it came to that, if he truly had no other choice. He knew he couldn't send these psychopaths to a world they could conquer, couldn't cause misery and death to countless others merely to save his own life, or even the lives of others. So where? He'd considered sending them to a Goa'uld planet, letting the Polistians see firsthand what they were facing out there, but then he'd be inviting the Goa'uld back to Polistia and its own thousands of innocents. He'd thought of sending them to a technologically advanced world where they would be quickly overcome, but even then he couldn't guarantee that there wouldn't be injuries or even deaths first, and the few such advanced races he knew, like the Tollan, were their allies, and he was honor-bound not to reveal their addresses. He'd thought of planets with toxic atmospheres, planets with no one there at all. . . .

_What the hell was he going to do?_

There was a moan and a cough and Daniel opened his eyes to find the miserably chained prisoners staring back at him. He realized, suddenly, that he was free to move about the room, and cursing his drug-clouded brain for causing him to wait so long, he picked up the pitcher to pour water into the glass. To his dismay, it was distressingly light, and sure enough, there was barely enough there for half a cup. Except for the old woman, who continued to look at Daniel, the family turned its eyes to the cool, clear stream as it filled the glass halfway and then trickled to a stop.

If he could have spared the tears, Daniel would have wept.

Still, it was something. He stood and held onto the table for a moment to steady himself, then picked up the glass and, trying to avoid looking at their naked, bruised and bloody bodies, he walked over to the wall where the they hung. His hand shook a little as he brought the water up to the lips of the elderly woman, and she sipped only a little before she said, weakly, "Give it to the children. Please give it to the children."

He hesitated, then took the glass and stepped to the girl, who stared at it with large brown eyes, then shook her head and looked away. Daniel's heart clenched as he realized she felt she didn't deserve even this kindness. What must she feel, he wondered, to have had her brave act of protest end in this horror for herself and her family? He raised his useless hand, still numb, and went to brush her cheek, and she flinched away as if afraid she was going to be struck. "Shhh," he said, then gently touched her bruised face and turned her head toward him. He raised the glass again, and this time she drank thirstily, two large gulps, before pulling her lips away.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Daniel only nodded, not trusting himself to speak, then turned and raised the glass to the lips of the boy, her brother he guessed, who hadn't once looked away from the glass. The teenager, young enough to have only the faintest shadow of a mustache on his upper lip, took his own long sip, and Daniel had to pull the glass back to make sure there was something left for the man he assumed was their father. The boy leaned forward toward the glass, then he shook his head and looked down as if in shame for his greed. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. Daniel smiled at him, or tried to, and shook his own head as if to say, "I understand." And of course, he did.

When he raised the glass to the father, who, unlike his son had a week's growth of black beard covering his battered face, the man looked at the small amount of water left and then at Daniel.

"And you, brother," he said hoarsely, lisping a little through newly broken teeth, "will you drink?"

"I'm fine," Daniel lied, trying to keep the gravel out of his own voice, but the man looked at him knowingly and took only one sip, leaving the rest in the glass.

"Drink," he said.

Daniel was deeply moved by the man's kindness even in the midst of his own suffering, but still, he thought about refusing, thought to offer the rest to the elderly woman who must surely need it more than he did. But he heard Jack's voice in his head admonishing him to do everything he could to stay alive till help came _(Would help come? Were they coming for him?)_, and he was so, so desperately thirsty.

So he drank the tiny portion left in the glass, swirling it in his mouth as if he were sampling a fine wine before he swallowed. "Thank you, brother," he said, returning the man's salutation, for truly they were brothers in at least this, in their humanity.

Before he could say anything else, he heard the tread of booted feet in the corridor, and his eyes widened in alarm. The door swung open then with a crash, and Lioss strode back into the room.

Daniel, his heart in his throat, turned toward the door.. _Oh, god, not yet! _he thought. _Not yet. _His mind scrambled furiously for an answer, any address that might keep this kind family alive. It was impossible; there was no place that would do, no place. . . . Except. . . . 

A planet finally occurred to Daniel, one that might at least delay the inevitable. When they returned, he could claim he didn't know. . . . Daniel knew it was a risk, knew it would probably fail, but this was it. He was out of time.

"Well?" Lioss asked, the cold stare back in his eyes. "Have you made your decision?"

Daniel stood motionless for another moment, took a deep breath and walked unsteadily back to the table. He paused again, then flipped open the journal to an empty page and started to write.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

As soon as Lioss left, Daniel was seized by the terrible certainty that he'd just condemned the people in front of him to death, and he almost called the man back to tell him he'd made a mistake. Maybe he should have given Lioss what he wanted, a world where the people wouldn't have put up a fight, a world the SGC could rescue later. Or maybe the Tollan were the right choice after all. How could he think of protecting a treaty at the expense of lives of this girl and her family?

But if some people were killed at the Gate before they recognized the primitive weapons for what they were? Daniel closed his eyes, trying to make himself think through his drug-induced fog. No, he couldn't weigh the abstract possibility of murder on another planet against the certainty of murder here, could he?

No, no, he couldn't. Daniel took a step toward the closed door and opened his mouth to call out, but then he stopped himself, the possibilities whirling almost sickeningly in his head. And what if the sadistic bastard decided to punish them anyway if Daniel called him back and admitted his "mistake"? What if he killed them instead of taking a new set of symbols? The man was unhinged enough. . . .

Daniel stood frozen in indecision. The planet he'd given them, PX3-245, had a small city easily visible from the Gate, just a few kilometers away, a city that, along with the surrounding villages, had, until the week before, held some four thousand souls. But the planet was beset by deadly storms and "earth" tremors of ever increasing violence, and the SGC, with SG-3 in command, had just finished helping to relocate the entire population. Daniel figured it would take whomever Lioss sent through hours if not a day to explore the city and surrounding villages before they realized that the world was deserted. And even then—or so Daniel had reasoned when his feverishly working brain had finally flashed on the Solkin world—with the evidence of very recent habitation, Daniel could claim he didn't know what had happened to the people there, could ask for another chance.

But now, already, Daniel saw the flaw in his thinking, and he cursed his stupidity. If he knew anything about this man Lioss, it was that he didn't give second chances. When the soldiers he sent to PX3-245 returned, these people were almost certainly dead. _Oh, God_, Daniel thought, _what have I done? _ Overwhelmed by the enormity of his mistake, he stumbled back to the table and grabbed the back of the chair to hold himself up, then lowered himself slowly into the seat. He shook his head. He'd made his decision, and he was stuck with it. They were _all_ stuck with it. He looked up at his cellmates, still unable to suppress his horror at their bloody, miserable state. They all hung limply, long past their ability to stand. The father was staring at the ground, and the girl looked as if she'd passed out. But the boy and the old woman were looking back at him, the boy with hope in his eyes, the old woman with . . . understanding.

He wasn't sure which was worse.

The woman started to say something, but the words stuck in her dry throat. She tried again and this time spoke in a surprisingly clear voice. "He would have killed us anyway," she said.

The boy's eyes grew wide when he heard her, and realizing what she meant, he gasped, then turned his eyes back to Daniel, full of accusation. "You didn't. . . . You didn't. . . . ?" he whispered, unable to finish and unable to keep the shock from his voice. Daniel started to answer but stopped, not knowing what to say. He couldn't admit to the boy what he'd done, in case someone was listening, but he couldn't bring himself to lie to him, either. The boy, though, saw the answer in his eyes, and started to sob, dry, heaving sobs.

The father lifted his head haltingly to look at his child, hanging so helplessly next to him, and said only his name, "Hallipa," using the Polistian diminutive and filling it with so much love and sorrow Daniel felt as if his own heart would break. The boy swallowed his sobs, or tried to, and whispered, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," over and over, apologizing for what Daniel didn't know, and his father hushed him then, as you would a small child—_Hush, Hallipa, hush—_until the boy grew quiet.

Daniel struggled to find something to say, anything to give comfort. He had bought them time, at least—he was sure of that—but time for what? Rescue? If anyone was coming, wouldn't. . . . No, he thought determinedly, shoving back his fears. They wouldn't leave him here. In the hours or a day that he'd given them, someone would come. Even if Jack was . . . even if Jack, Sam and Teal'c were too. . . . Daniel's mind stuttered over the terrible possibilities, and for a moment he couldn't see beyond the fate of his teammates, and again the terrible thought that had been with him since he'd first seen Lioss sitting so smugly on his "throne" rose to the surface.

_They're gone, and I am never leaving this place._

Daniel shook his head. No, he couldn't think that way. His team was all right, and even if for some reason they couldn't come for him, someone would. No one gets left behind, right?That wasn't just Jack's credo, but the SGC's. _No one gets left behind._ If he didn't make himself believe it, he would go mad.

They would be here, and before Lioss discovered that there was no one to conquer on the world Daniel had given him.

And if they weren't? If rescue still hadn't arrived?

Daniel tried to straighten up and shake off his weariness. If there was no rescue, then it was up to him. He couldn't just let these people die. But what the hell else could he do? Daniel looked around the thick-walled, windowless room and at the solid, bolted door. Escape wasn't an option. Even if, as weak and injured as he was, he could get the guards into the room and incapacitate them, the odds against finding the keys on one of them and having time to unchain the others were astronomical. And even unchained, he doubted they could walk, never mind run.

And run to where?

No, he'd have to talk his—_their_—way out, convince a madman, somehow, to let them go. The utter impossibility of that hope would have had him laughing at himself, if he could still laugh. But instead, he listened to the small voice in his head, the one that had gotten him this far, even during those times when he couldn't quite hear it: _Never give up_, it whispered. And he decided to listen now, because hadn't his whole life taught him that? Hadn't his years at the SGC reinforced that a thousand times over?

No, he wouldn't give up, not with others' lives hanging in the balance. In the time left to them, he would think of something.

There had to be something.

**bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb**

Jack had to remind himself again that this wasn't a death watch, but Carter looked that bad. Her eyes, when they were open, had gone glassy, her breathing, even with the oxygen mask, was labored, punctuated only by soft gasps of pain, and she was so pale she seemed almost translucent. But Janet had promised them, she had _sworn_ when Jack had asked her for the tenth time, that before it was too late, she would give Carter another dose of the poison.And damn it to hell that they even had to consider doing that to her, but it was the only way. Carter would live long enough for them to figure something out, and she would be all right. That was what mattered.

Jack looked over at Teal'c, who still held Carter's hand and was murmuring a story to her of some far off land with purple skies and cinnamon fields—that's what he'd said, _cinnamon fields. _Jack thought it must be an Earth twist on a Jaffa bedtime story, something Teal'c's mother had murmured to him almost a century ago. It had that sound to it. Whatever it was, it seemed to give Carter comfort, and Jack wondered, not for the first time, how Teal'c could have lived the life he had and still, on occasion, be so . . . gentle.

In the midst of those musings, the blare of the klaxon caught Jack by surprise, and he jumped to his feet, his heart in his throat as the familiar announcement sounded over the loudspeaker in the infirmary. "Unscheduled off-world activation, unscheduled off-world activation!" Carter's eyes popped open, more focused than they'd been in an hour, and Teal'c paused in his storytelling.

"Go," the big man said, seeing Jack hesitate. "I will stay with Major Carter until my presence is required." Carter, through her mask, whispered, "Go!" as well, and Jack nodded and turned for the door. He passed Janet and started to say, "Doc. . . ." and she replied, without heat, "Don't worry, Colonel. I know what I'm doing." He gave another nod, and broke into a jog for the elevator and the Control Room.

Sure enough, before the elevator doors closed, he heard his name being paged. This had to be it. It was the Polistians. The plan was in place. The first part belonged to Kovachek—and, Jack had to admit to himself, having watched the major's performance during the last contact, if anyone could pull it off, Kovachek could. The SGC's chief negotiator would again demand to see Daniel alive and to get the antidote for Carter, saying his "superiors" refused to hand over so much of value with no guarantee they would get anything in return. With luck, they could get Daniel to the Gate, or at least the antidote, before Part Two of the plan went into action, because either way, this time, they were going through the Gate. Whether or not Lioss agreed to their demands, Kovachek would pretend to consult with his superiors and then agree to send a "good faith" shipment of Goa'uld shock grenades—none of them thought Lioss would be able to resist that small victory—and then five teams would follow the crates through. If Daniel wasn't at the Gate, they'd force Lioss and Gahry to tell them, and Jack was so looking forward to being the one who would make them. The bastards were going to pay for what they'd done to his teammates.

Jack rounded the corner and went into the Control Room but stopped short when he saw that the iris was already open and the event horizon was shooting into the Gateroom and settling back. Damn. No way they were opening the Gate for the Polistians. He was about to ask Hammond and Walter what was going on, when the event horizon rippled, and Jacob Carter stepped through next to another robed man Jack had never seen before. The Tok'ra. It was about damn time.

**bbbbbbbbbbbbbb**

Janet stood ready by the infirmary doors waiting for Jacob/Selmak to appear. Dammit, they were cutting it close. Not long after Colonel O'Neill had rushed from the room, Sam had seemed to relax and even smiled, and Janet had had a moment of hope that the Polistians' claims and their own suppositions had been wrong. But then Sam had whispered, "Pain's gone," and Janet realized what was happening. She'd rushed to the refrigerator where a syringe full of the poison lay already prepared just as everything had started going to hell. Sam's heartbeat became erratic, and her breathing became even more labored. The poison was gone, and her body was shutting down. Sam's eyes, which had opened wide as she realized what was happening, fluttered shut even as the machinery around her began to blink and beep wildly. Janet had already swabbed Sam's arm with alcohol, when the phone rang,and the nurse who'd answered had shouted out that Jacob was on the way with his healing device. So, knowing it was what Sam would want, she'd replaced the syringe and had the crash cart rolled to her bedside and told her staff to be prepared to intubate in case Jacob didn't run fast enough.

Now she heard their rapid footsteps from down the hall, heard Jacob's voice, rising, saying, "He's still on the planet?" and Colonel O'Neill's terse, "You heard me," and she stepped back just in time to avoid the doors as they swung open with a crash and Jacob entered with the colonel hot on his heals.

"Where is she?" Jacob said, wasting no time on greetings and Janet nodded toward the bed, knowing she didn't have to admonish the man to hurry. Jacob was there in three determined strides, pulling the healing device from his robe as he walked. Janet watched him take in Sam's critical state, and saw him stop short and draw in his breath.

"Oh, Sammy," he whispered, and some of the color leached from his face. Then he dipped his head and raised it, and pushed his hand toward his daughter's chest and activated the device, and Janet realized Selmak had taken over, most likely to spare Jacob the awful responsibility of holding his child's life in his hands.

A complete silence except for the ever-present beeping of the equipment fell over the infirmary as all eyes turned toward Sam's bed. Teal'c, who still held Sam's hand, seemed to be holding his breath, and Colonel O'Neill, who stood next to her, was clutching the bar at the foot of Sam's bed so tightly his knuckles were white. Janet found herself clenching her own fists, and she forced herself to loosen her grip and take a deep breath. If for some reason, the healing device didn't work, she needed to be ready to move.

Gradually, the beeping of Sam's heart monitor, which had become erratic, even flatlining for moments, became regular, if a little fast, while Sam's breathing, which had been little more than harsh, wheezing gasps, slowed and became remarkably clear. Janet leaned forward a little and saw that even the color was coming back to her patient's face. She turned toward Jacob/Selmak to compliment them on their work, but saw that they still had a look of intense concentration on their sweat-drenched face, so she held back.

After another five long minutes during which no one spoke a word, Selmak deactivated the device and let out a deep sigh. The Tok'ra looked up at the people surrounding the still-unconscious major and said, exhaustion evident even through her dual-toned voice, "She will be fine. If we had come much later, the damage might have been too severe, but she will be fine."

**bbbbbbbbbbbbbbb**

"Tell us of other worlds, please. Do all worlds have men so terrible?"

Daniel, who'd been staring at the table, deep in thought, looked up into the eyes of the girl who had been brave enough to challenge the rule of a maniac. He didn't know how long she'd been conscious or how long she'd been staring at him. He thought barely an hour had passed since Lioss had left the room, but he had no way to know for sure.

"No, not all, but . . . most have men like him, somewhere."

The girl looked down. "Then there is no hope, anywhere," she said. "I've done this for nothing."

"No!" Daniel said, surprising himself with his vehemence. "No, there is hope. There is always hope. There are Liosses everywhere, but there are people everywhere who have risen up to fight them—and won. We might not win here today, but somewhere, someday. . . ." Daniel stopped, realizing how foolish his words must sound to them, to talk about hope when their—and his—most likely future was torture and death.

But the girl said, "Tell us of a place like that. Tell us of a people who won."

The others were looking at him now, all of them, waiting to hear what he would say, and he realized that this, a story of a better place, was all he could offer them now. No one had brought them more water and he couldn't unlock their chains or lessen their pain, but he could at least do that, at least tell them a story. He had hours yet to figure out what to do when Lioss returned; surely a few minutes couldn't hurt.

So Daniel started to tell them of Abydos. He told them there was a terrible, cruel tyrant who had enslaved its people for thousands of years until they had risen up and vanquished him, and how the people had learned again to live in freedom. He told them of the celebrations, of the joy the people found in living without fear, and how they built on their already just society to create a thriving, wonderful world.

Daniel's throat was so dry his voice croaked and cracked as he spoke, but he saw that the girl and her family wanted to hear more, and he too almost became lost in his story as he painted a picture of the world he had come to love more than the one he was born to. He talked of the mischievous boys and the laughing girls and the desert sunsets and the—

The door slammed open with a crash, making Daniel jump and the girl cry out. Four soldiers he hadn't seen before burst in, carrying long, swordlike blades at their sides, and instead of the black uniforms with the lightning-bolt insignia, they wore gray uniforms with what looked like a wolf's head on the shoulders.

"Father?" the boy's said, fear making his voice rise.

"No one speaks!" shouted one of the soldiers, taking up a position to the right of the prisoners, and the father, who'd started to answer, instead closed his eyes and started to mouth words quickly and silently, as if in prayer.

"What's happening. . . ?" Daniel started to say, rising from the chair, but one of the men clamped a hand on his shoulder and pushed him down, then twisted his head roughly so he was facing the door. Daniel winced at the twinge of pain in his neck as another man he'd never seen before, a civilian, came through carrying some kind of alien technology—not Polistian, not Earth—followed by Lioss.

Lioss's eyes were black with rage, and Daniel knew without a doubt that he'd discovered Daniel's deception. But how? Daniel's mind scrambled to figure out what had gone wrong. There had barely been time to set foot on the planet, never mind make it to the city and back. How could they. . . ?

His thoughts were interrupted when the civilian, who looked scared to death, placed the alien machine on the table in front of Daniel, then glanced once at Lioss and practically ran from the room. Lioss stepped up to Daniel and swung his arm , backhanding him so hard in the face that Daniel almost fell from the chair. If Daniel hadn't been drugged, he knew, the pain would have exploded in his head, but still, it hurt, and he realized even in the middle of his fear and confusion that there was a dull throbbing in his hand as well, that there had been for some time. Whatever they'd given him was already wearing off.

"You dare to lie to me!" Lioss screamed at him.

"Lie?" Daniel said. "I didn't lie. . . ."

Lioss struck him in the face again, splitting his lip and knocking his head backward into the chair.

"I warned you what would happen," Lioss spat, "and you send my emissaries to a deserted world?"

"Deserted? No!" Daniel protested. "There are thousands. . . ."

Lioss raised his hand again and Daniel flinched, but this time the madman punched a button on the contraption on the table. There was a low buzz, then a tinny voice could be heard. It was a recording device. Daniel recognized the language as Solkin, but he couldn't speak or understand it, and he knew Lioss and his soldiers couldn't either. So what could be on the recording that had given him away? Then there was a brief silence and the same voice began to speak in Goa'uld, and Daniel's heart dropped as he realized what the recording was. It was a warning. The Solkin had left a warning at the Gate about the dangers of their planet. Christ, that hadn't been in the reports, had it? How could he have missed that the Solkin had left a warning? And then the voice said something else, still in Goa'uld, and Daniel felt the bile rise in his throat. It wasn't just a warning; it was a thank-you. They were thanking the SGC for finding them a new home.

Daniel closed his eyes, knowing what was coming, and sure enough, after another pause, the voice began to speak in English, the one language shared by all three worlds.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

The first thing Sam noticed as she floated back to consciousness was the beeping of the monitors and the murmur of voices. The second thing was that her limbs felt heavy, as if she were fighting the gravity of a giant planet, and that everything felt sore, as if she'd sparred with Teal'c for a week. She thought she should try to move, to see if her arms and legs really were too heavy to lift, but she wasn't sure she was up to the effort. So she drifted for a bit, trying almost lazily to remember what had happened to land her in the infirmary this time.

"Sam?" she heard a voice say softly almost at her ear. "Sammy?"

Sammy? she mused. Who would be calling her Sammy in the infirmary? Only her father called her Sammy, or sometimes Mark when he was trying to annoy her . . . or maybe. . . . Her mind drifted again, and she thought she might doze off, but then she had a niggling little memory of starting to drift earlier and then . . . and then . . . dying?

No, that couldn't be right. But still she couldn't shake it, the memory: feeling a moment of peace, a moment of no pain at all . . . no pain. . . .

"Sammy? Thatta girl, Sammy. Time to wake up."

Sam opened her eyes and blinked and sure enough saw her father leaning over her. She blinked again, wondering if he were a hallucination and thinking he might disappear that fast, in the blink of an eye, but, no, he was still there, looking exhausted but also very, very happy to see her. What had. . . .

Her memory came back to her then, not so much with a rush as with a thud. Daniel, the poison, the pain, wishing she could, finally, just die. . . .

"Sam?" her father asked, still waiting for a response from her, something to tell him she was really there behind her eyes.

She stared at him silently for another moment, not long, she thought, but apparently long enough for his eyes to grow more worried and his jaw to work nervously as he started to look around the infirmary, ready to call for help.

"Dad?" she finally said. His eyes snapped back to her and he smiled.

"Yeah, Sam, it's me."

"You came," she whispered, and his smile became more of a grimace of apology.

"We would have been here sooner," he said, "but we. . . ."

"Doesn't matter," she said. "Am I . . ."

"You're fine, Sam. You're going to be fine."

"The poison?"

Janet appeared over Jacob's shoulder. "The poison is completely out of your system," she said. "And Jacob and Selmak have reversed the cellular damage with the healing device." She stepped around Jacob's chair and put her hand to Sam's neck to feel her pulse, despite the monitor beeping rhythmically on the other side of Sam's bed, then asked, "How are you feeling?"

"Tired. Sore. But . . . O.K.," Sam said.

Janet smiled. "Is that O.K. in an SG-1 sort of way, or O.K. in a regular person sort of way?"

Sam shrugged a little but didn't answer, then raised her head to look around the infirmary. Hadn't the colonel and Teal'c been with her just before. . . . She suddenly remembered the colonel running from the room as the klaxons sounded, and her heart skipped a beat. How long had she been out? If neither the colonel and Teal'c were there, had they gone for Daniel? Were they O.K.? Was Daniel?

Janet, reacting to the rapid beeping of the heart monitor, leaned over her. "Sam?" she asked. Her father leaned forward too, looking anxious, and she took a deep breath to try to calm herself. Panic wasn't going to help anyone, least of all her team.

"Daniel?" she asked, knowing her question was all the explanation Janet and her father would need.

Her father suddenly looked grim, and Janet shook her head. "There's no news yet," her friend said. "The Polistians haven't made contact."

Sam felt the news like a kick to the gut. _Nothing?_ Daniel was still trapped on that planet, alone, probably in agony and they'd heard nothing? How long had it been? She looked at her father for an explanation. "Then we're waiting for a ship?" She asked. "Or we're Gating to one? Have Teal'c and the colonel already left? How many teams did they take?"

Jacob grimaced and shook his head. "There's no ship, Sammy," he said. "Jack and Teal'c went to talk to Helemut, the Tok'ra I came with, and I know he'll contact the council to make a formal request, but we've got nothing even close now."

Sam shook her head as if denying his words. "Dad, this is Daniel we're talking about. We can't just leave him there. I can give you the coordinates of the Polistian world. We can Gate to your closest ship and be there. . . ."

Jacob sighed. "I'm sorry, Sam. You know Selmak and I would do anything in our power for Daniel, but the Tok'ra are stretched thin. . . ."

Sam felt a surge of anger, even knowing she was being unfair to the man sitting at her side. The colonel was right, she thought, the Tok'ra only take; they never give. Not looking at her father, she flung the sheet and blanket off her shoulders, with an effort that was much greater than it should have been, and started to sit up. She wasn't going to lie in an infirmary bed and do nothing while her teammate was still in trouble.

"Janet," she said, pulling the heart monitor lead from her finger and ignoring her father's plaintive _Sam _and her own exhaustion_,_ "could you remove the IV, please. And could someone bring me my clothes?"

"Sam, I'm sorry, I can't discharge you yet," Janet said, giving her a gentle push to get her to lie back down. "I'd still like to monitor your condition, and you need to rest."

Sam resisted the gentle shove, and sat up fully, swinging her legs around the side of the bed and trying not to wince as her sore muscles protested. "I'll rest when Daniel's home," she said, then seeing that Janet was about to refuse again, softened her tone. "Janet, please, I need to do this. I had you, the colonel, Teal'c and the whole SGC taking care of me. Daniel has nobody. We can't . . ." Sam felt her voice start to crack and she took a deep breath to get ahold of herself. She had been ready to die the pain had been so bad. And Daniel was going through that alone?

She tried again. "I need to help, Janet. Please."

Janet sighed and glanced toward her father. Sam didn't look behind her, but she knew him well enough to know the look of exasperation that would be on his face.

"All right," Janet surrendered. "Jacob, you'll stay with her?"

"We will not leave her side," Selmak's voice came back.

Sam shook her head, feeling some of her anger abate. Her father, no doubt, had been tempted to use much more colorful language. She saw Janet hide a small smile at Selmak's more tempered response, and Sam gave her own grim smile back as the doctor pulled out the IV needle and put a bandage in its place. Sam nodded her thanks, and then, waving away Janet's offered hand, pushed herself to her feet.

"I'm fine," she said, in true SG-1 fashion, and headed out to find the other two members of her team.

**bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb**

**Warning in this section for violence and graphic imagery, mostly contained in one short paragraph. Please don't read it if you think it will upset you.**

"_. . . and let it be known to all who come here the debt of gratitude we owe to the SGC and the people of Earth. For, expecting naught in return, they take us now from our intemperate planet to a new land, a new world, where we, the Solkin, may thrive once again. May the Tau'ri be blessed in all they do, and may all who listen be safe in their travels. . . ."_

Daniel felt as if the oxygen had been sucked from the room as the tinny voice was replaced by static and then silence. He opened his eyes in time to see Lioss's hand reach out and almost gently press the button ending the recording. Daniel forced himself then to raise his head and look Lioss in the face, to not flinch at the fury he saw there.

Knowing well he was doomed before he began, he said as steadily as he could, "I didn't know. If the Solkin were relocated by the SGC, I never. . . ."

With a speed Daniel didn't know Lioss possessed, the Polistian leaned forward and grabbed Daniel's throat with one hand, squeezing hard enough to make Daniel gag, but Daniel struggled to speak anyway. He had to stop this; he couldn't let these people die. "I'm telling the truth. I'll give you another world," he croaked. "I'll. . . ." Lioss, his eyes still black with rage, increased the pressure, choking off Daniel's air and his words with it. Daniel reached up with his good hand and grabbed Lioss's arm to try to pull it back, but the man's grip didn't loosen. Daniel's eyes widened as he struggled to breath, and he kicked out his legs to try to knock Lioss off-balance, but it was no good, and he wondered if he was going to die here and now with the others in the room. But then Lioss let go abruptly, dropping Daniel back in his seat, and turned toward the door, barking out, "Guards!"

As Scarface and Thug Two entered the room and came toward him, Daniel put his own hand to his throat and slumped back in his chair, sucking air into his lungs with painful breaths. The two men grabbed him by either arm and hauled him from the chair and propelled him backwards toward the far wall, opposite the tortured souls he had failed to save. Daniel looked over his shoulder and noticed for the first time the sets of chains hanging there, but before he could think to struggle, they had clasped his arms high above his head. Pain shot through his injured hand and down his arm and he let loose an involuntary cry, but the men ignored him. They took up position on either side of him, at rigid attention, and stared stonily ahead.

_Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God_, this wasn't happening, this couldn't happen. Daniel watched in horror as Lioss gave a nod to one of the gray-uniformed soldiers and then all four of them drew their sabers and took one step forward toward the four prisoners and stopped at the ready.

"Papa?" the girl said faintly, sounding like a small, frightened child. The boy was weeping silently, and their grandmother had turned her head away, closing her eyes.

"Please," the father said, looking at Lioss, "please spare my children."

Lioss, who had his back to Daniel, didn't answer the man, but instead turned away from him to look at Daniel.

"You don't have to do this," Daniel croaked. "Don't kill them, and I'll give you what you want." Lioss continued to stare at him, unmoving, and Daniel went on, desperately: "I can get you weapons, technology, whatever you need; I know places even the SGC doesn't know. Spare them and I'll tell you."

Lioss didn't say a word, but a slow smile spread over his face, and Daniel held his breath and waited. Had he done it? Was the man insane enough to believe him? Then the smile dropped from Lioss's face and he spun back toward the soldiers. "Do it!" he snapped.

"No!" Daniel screamed, echoing the cries of the boy and his father. "No!" But the soldiers as one took another stepped forward and began to swing their sabers, slashing not once but again and again, and Daniel felt his mind slip temporarily from its mooring and he screamed incoherently and struggled madly against his chains as the living, breathing human beings he'd barely begun to know were hacked and sliced into bloody, lifeless pieces of flesh.

Mere seconds later it was over. The soldiers, breathing heavily with exertion, stepped back and replaced their weapons at their sides and stood at attention, facing the carnage and awaiting their orders. Daniel's last scream ended in a whisper—_"No"_—then he too was still. He wanted to back away, to run from what was before him, to hide from the screeching in his head, the voice yelling silently yet so loudly he thought his eardrums might burst: _You did this. It was you. You did this. It was you._ Without thinking, he went to put his shaking hands to his ears, but his arms were stopped abruptly by the pull of the chains and he let out a shout, part anger, part despair.

Lioss, who had stood casually by the table throughout the slaughter, turned at the sound to look at Daniel. The blood of his victims was splattered on his clothes, in his hair and even dripping down his cheek, but he made no move to wipe it away. Instead, he looked at Daniel almost quizzically, then smiled broadly as if they had just shared a wonderful joke, and the sight was so incongruous, so repulsive, that Daniel again felt himself losing hold on reality. Maybe this wasn't happening; maybe it really wasn't happening. This couldn't . . . couldn't have . . .

"Come now," he heard Lioss say almost jocularly, "surely this doesn't upset you? Wasn't this the deal we made?" And Lioss made a sweeping gesture with his arm to take in the mangled, lifeless bodies hanging on the wall.

Daniel eyes almost involuntarily followed the sweep of Lioss's arm, settling on the boy . . . what used to be a boy. _God. _Ashamed that his mind was playing tricks, that he'd tried to deny to himself that their murder had ever happened, he made himself look at each of them, then, committing to memory what evil and his own stupidity had done. To deny their deaths was to deny their lives, their sacrifice . . . their stupid, goddammed useless sacrifice. Daniel felt tears running down his cheeks, but he was helpless to stop them, so he closed his eyes and let them fall. What did it matter now anyway?

"I asked you, Wasn't this the deal we made?"

The question was yelled in Daniel's ear, and Daniel opened his eyes to see Lioss's face just inches from his. The humor was gone from the man's voice, and once again his eyes were black with rage. Lioss grabbed him by the chin and repeated, "Wasn't it?"

If Daniel could have spit in his tormentor's face then, he would have done it. He had never hated anyone more, had never wanted to kill anyone more than he wanted to kill Lioss then. There was no host this time to hold back his rage, no need for "intelligence" to stay his hand. If he hadn't been chained, he would have gladly strangled the life from him.

"Answer me!" Lioss screamed.

"You fu**ing murderous bastard," Daniel whispered with what was left of his voice. "You might as well kill me now because you will _never _get another answer from me."

Daniel expected to be struck, or strangled again, or killed outright, and true to form Lioss tightened his grip on Daniel's chin until Daniel thought he might actually break his jaw. Then Lioss moved even closer, and Daniel could feel his hot breath on his face as the madman almost whispered the next words. "No, you won't die. I will get my answers elsewhere, and you, you will suffer pain beyond human endurance. Believe me, you will beg to tell us what we want to know, you will beg us to kill you . . . but we won't."

Lioss abruptly let go of Daniel and said to Scarface, barely glancing at the guard, "You know what to do." Then he spun on his heels and walked from the room, shouting "Dismissed!" over his shoulder to the four executioners, who still stood at attention facing their gruesome handiwork. The soldiers remained unmoving until Lioss's footsteps faded in the corridor, then they relaxed their stances and looked at one another, sharing meaningful glances that Daniel couldn't decipher. Only one of the soldiers, younger than the others, barely older than the boy and girl he'd killed, failed to look at the others. Instead he looked only at the floor, and Daniel could swear the boy was trembling. Then one of the older men slapped him on the back and said, "Well done, boy! Come, let's clean up."

Daniel stared numbly after them as they left and only then looked to the twin thugs. They stood so close to Daniel he could feel their sweat through his clothes, and he could feel the muscles's in Scarface's arm against his side tightening and loosening as he clenched and unclenched his fist; Thug Two was shaking slightly and blinking rapidly, but otherwise the men stood stock-still, waiting, as the soldiers had before them, for the sounds to fade from the corridor.

When all was quiet again, Thug Two swore under his breath, then walked to the corner and vomited, the retching sounds making Daniel already roiling stomach jump and clench and the bile rise to his throat. His vision blurred and then cleared and he saw Scarface, looking gray and drawn, standing in front of him. The guard had pulled a flask from his belt, and he let it hang loosely from his hand as he waited patiently for his partner to finish. Daniel looked down at the flask and back at Scarface and saw the answer in the man's troubled eyes—_You will suffer pain beyond human endurance—_and Daniel, who had been half-hanging from his chains, swallowed dryly and forced himself to stand up straight. Still, he couldn't hide the shiver of terror that ran through him, and Scarface looked down and away.

Finally Thug Two stood from his crouch and, wiping his mouth with his sleeve, came over to stand next to Scarface. Scarface gestured with the flask, and Thug Two nodded in readiness.

"I am sorry," Scarface said, in heavily accented English, the first words Daniel had ever heard the man speak. Then Thug Two reached for him, grabbing his bruised jaw with one hand and his forehead with the other. Daniel, trying not to panic, clenched his mouth shut and tried to turn his head, but he was helpless against the much stronger man, so he started to fight in earnest, twisting and turning his body and grunting in protest. Thug Two simply pushed his weight into Daniel, trapping him against the wall, and squeezed harder, and Daniel's mouth was forced open. Daniel let out a strangled cry as Scarface raised the flask, and he curled his tongue back to try to keep the liquid from his mouth, and the first, familiar bittersweet drops dribbled from his mouth and down his chin. The guard who had alternately been so cruel and kind to Daniel pulled the flask back in frustration and stepped slightly to the side, and Daniel, his head pinned, found himself staring helplessly across the room at the mutilated remains of the family he'd shared such a short time with.

The family he'd killed.

Daniel felt the room expand and contract, and the voice in his head that had been silenced by Lioss's assault resumed its screeching condemnation. Thug Two tightened his grip on his jaw, and Scarface again stepped in front of him as he raised the flask once more to his lips, but Daniel could still see the corpses, could still see every horrific moment of their deaths.

He stopped struggling, and drank.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Thug Two had barely released Daniel's jaw when the pain exploded in him like a hand grenade hitting an ammo dump. His legs jerked off the floor, his hands yanked spasmodically against the chains and his eyes rolled back in his head. A shriek started in his gut and burst from his lungs, splitting the funereal silence of the room and growing until his already abused vocal cords finally gave out, leaving his mouth still gaping in an almost silent howl.

His arms were released and then he was being dragged by the armpits through the stick and stink of the blood on the floor, then across cool stone to dry dirt, his body twisting and hopping, not his own. Images appeared before his eyes and vanished, bright lights, high ceilings, night sky. Thoughts stuttered into his head, shattered then came together again, still cracked.

He didn't know how long or how far he was dragged. His body jolted of its own accord away from his captors once and he fell to the ground on his broken hand, and impossibly the agony grew, and he found himself trying to talk, to beg, "P-p-pl-," but he couldn't form the words.

Surely he couldn't survive this? Surely death would take him now?

But . . . no.

He was lifted again, dragged farther, then lowered, his mouth eating dirt as his face jerked across the ground. He waited for the clang of the cell door and the receding stomp of boots, but instead he heard the shuffling of numerous feet and the murmur of voices near and far and most oddly the distressed cry of an infant. He opened his eyes at that and tried to control his movements enough to lift his head and see where he was, what new horror awaited him. Clenching his jaw with the effort, he pulled his face from the dirt and held his head still for long enough to look up.

Looming above him, glinting in the night sky, was the Stargate.

**bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb**

Jack stilled the drumming of his fingers and the nervous shaking of his leg as he caught Hammond's look. He put his feet flat on the floor and clenched his fists instead and tried to focus on the conversation going on around the briefing room table. But, goddammit, the waiting was going to kill him. Carter, thank God, was going to be O.K., but Daniel. . . . Jesus, they didn't even know if Daniel was alive or dead, and all they could do was sit here and wait. Wait for that walking dead man Lioss—because the man was oh-so-dead when Jack caught up with him—to contact them and wait for the damn Tok'ra High Council to let them know if they could have a ship, even though Jack already knew in his bones that they wouldn't help. Helmet-head, or whatever his name was, had done his best, he knew. Jack had heard the message the odd little Tok'ra had sent to the council. It had been persuasive and surprisingly . . . passionate.

_Passionate._ Now there was a word Jack had never before associated with the Tok'ra. _Arrogant. Self-centered. Cold sons of . . . ." _Except for Selmak, and maybe, grudgingly, Marty, Jack had no use for any of them. But this Helmet-head guy had actually sounded as if he cared. And maybe he did. Because, if what he was saying was true, he was not your everyday, average Tok'ra. No spying, no plotting, no death-defying missions for him, unless he accidentally walked into danger—which was apparently what he had just done, causing Jacob to run to his rescue. No, he was, of all things, a _historian_, traveling from world to world throughout the galaxy collecting the inhabitants' stories, reading their texts, studying their cultures. As far as Jack could tell, he was—_they were_, since apparently both host and snake shared this thirst for knowledge—pretty much the closest thing the Tok'ra had to a _Daniel_.

Not that this guy or anyone, Tok'ra or human. . . .

"Colonel O'Neill? _Colonel_. _O'Neill_."

General Hammond's increasingly insistent voice finally made its way into Jack's consciousness, and he looked up with an apologetic grimace.

"General?"

Hammond gave a slight shake to his head, but said more patiently than Jack was owed, "Helemut was wondering if there is anything else you could tell us about the Polistian society that might be relevant."

_Relevant?_ Jack wondered. _What the hell could be relevant?_ If they didn't have a ship and couldn't go through the Gate, they could talk about the "Polistian society" until they were blue in the face and it wouldn't do them a damn bit of good. But since he couldn't voice that opinion without facing a court martial, he looked at Teal'c, who sat by his side in that preternaturally still yet coiled way he had when he was spoiling for action.

"Teal'c," he asked, "you have anything?"

Teal'c stared back at him for a moment, and then said, "As I have just explained, the people of PX0-4593 possess a retrograde culture apparently enforced upon them in the distant past by a victorious enemy, and the present leader of their government is a sadistic megalomaniac intent on returning his people to their days of military glory. To that I have nothing to add."

Jack blinked. It was so bizarre to hear the normally taciturn Jaffa come out with that speech that for a moment Jack wondered if he was caught in a very, very poorly written dream. Was it his imagination, or was _everyone_ beginning to sound like Daniel? Not wanting to pursue that line of thought further, he decided to put off any smart-ass comment about Teal'c's sudden burst of eloquence and turned to the Tok'ra across the table. "Yeah," he said, "that about covers it." And then, unable to keep the frustration out of his voice, he added, "For all the good it will do us."

Helmet-head, clearly not oblivious to Jack's tone and equally clearly used to hearing one like it, said evenly, "I understand that the information I seek may seem irrelevant, Colonel. However, we have often found that gathering as much knowledge as possible about the place or people in question has proved useful. As we are forced to wait for the High Council and for contact by the Polistians, I had hoped to contribute in the only other way I could."

Before Jack could formulate the apology he knew the man was owed, another voice piped in—"I may be able to help with that"— causing Jack and the rest of the people in the room to turn in surprise toward the door.

"Carter? Shouldn't you be. . . .?"

"I'm fine, sir," she said, avoiding his gaze, and one only had to look at her to know that wasn't the case—truth be told, she looked as if a stiff wind could knock her down. He glanced at Jacob, who'd come in hard on his daughter's heels, but he only gave a look and a gesture that clearly said, "You try and stop her!"

Hammond also ignored Carter's obvious falsehood, saying only, "Major, I am happy to see you up and around. May I assume that Dr. Fraiser has released you?"

"Yes, sir," she responded, but Jack noticed the roll of Jacob's eyes and thought he had a pretty good idea of how that "release" had come about. He had no doubt Hammond did as well, but the general said, only, "Then have a seat. This is Helemut and the host Gerrard. They are the Tok'ra's cultural experts."

Rather than mirror Jack's own amazement at the title, so incongruous for the single-minded Tok'ra, Carter only nodded and said, "Helemut, yes. Daniel has told me how much he's looked forward to meeting you. He, he, uh. . . ." The words caught in her throat, and Jack watched her struggled for a moment to compose herself before she said, "I'm very happy to meet you as well."

So Daniel knew about this guy, Jack thought. Of course he did. And of course he'd shared with Carter and not with his CO, knowing, no doubt, that mention of a Tok'ra historian would have elicited just another in a long line of sarcastic remarks. Such a small thing, and yet Jack for a moment had to tamp down his own urge to cry. _Damn it_, Daniel.

"Have a seat, both of you," Hammond said, gesturing to Jacob and Carter. "Major, you said you might be able to help?"

"Yes, sir," Carter said, allowing her father to pull out a chair for her across from Jack and Teal'c and sitting down with a studied nonchalance that didn't fool anyone. She was _so_ not fine. Her eyes passed over him, hesitated and skittered away, and he remembered his harsh words in the infirmary and winced. He was lucky all she did was avoid eye contact.

"We haven't heard from the High Council yet?" Carter was saying.

Hammond shot Jack a warning glance, cutting off any sarcastic or bitter remark, before he said, "No, not yet."

She nodded, obviously not surprised, but didn't comment. Instead she paused, then began, hesitatingly, as if expecting to be shot down, "All right. I know this may seem . . . stupid. . . ."

Jack could almost feel Teal'c's raised eyebrow at the idea that anything Carter could come up with could be "stupid," but before he could say so, Hammond, beat him to it. "I seriously doubt that, Major. Please continue."

She hesitated again, then nodded to herself, and began, "I was studying Daniel's notes on PX. . . ." She glanced at the Tok'ra and amended, "on Polistia, and he thought—thinks—that after they lost a war to a more powerful enemy, it was made illegal, punishable by death, to create an army or any military force." Hemet-head nodded. "Right," Sam continued. "Well, I know it's a long shot, but I thought that . . . maybe . . . we could use that somehow. Daniel says that even after all these centuries, many people seem to believe the aliens are still watching, waiting to punish them if they stray from the law. I thought that if we could somehow convince the Polistians that the aliens knew of their army, that they were returning. . . ."

"Do you know the name of this alien race?" the Tok'ra asked.

"Maybe," Sam said. "Daniel thought it was something like Omaygee or. . . ."

Jack kept his face neutral as Sam talked, or at least he tried to, but she'd lost him after the first couple of sentences. He understood her need to find something in Daniel's notes, to do anything to help while she was lying in that infirmary bed, he really did. And he guessed he understood her need to hang on to the idea now. It was a way to hang on to Daniel, to keep him present. And, as much as he itched to get through the Gate and start shooting people, he was as aware as she was of the odds they were up against, the need for a better plan. But this half-baked plot. . . . _Damn it to hell_, he thought, his impatience rising again to the surface despite his best efforts. If they weren't able to launch a rescue mission soon, he was going to go stark raving mad.

As if in answer to his thoughts, he noticed Teal'c turn toward the Gate, then he felt it, the minute tremor that always proceeded Gate activation. Sure enough, the Gate started to spin and the alarms started to blare. Hammond stood up and without waiting to discover who was dialing in, picked up the phone, said only, "Sergeant. . . ." Almost immediately a voice commanded over the P.A., "SGs 3, 7, 8 and 12, report to the Gate room!" Jack glanced through the glass to the left of the Gate, where his and Teal'c's gear lay at the ready and several small crates of Goa'uld shock grenades sat, then toward Walter in the control room, who was pushing buttons and staring intently at his screen. Kovachek appeared as if out of nowhere and slid into the seat next to the master sergeant.

Tok'ra or Polistians? he wondered. Or an emergency with one of the two teams still off-world? Jack waited with barely concealed impatience until General Hammond stood and said, "All right, people," and walked around the table to the door, then Jack jumped up to follow, with Teal'c, Sam and the two Tok'ra in his wake. They crowded into the control room just as the last chevron locked and the light the event horizon flashed behind the closed iris. Jack went to stand next to Hammond, and he felt Sam and Teal'c at his back. Below them, the teams assigned to the rescue began to file into the Gate room.

Walter, without looking back, stated, "It's Polistia, sir," at the signal from the MALP. Jack felt the usual pre-mission tightening in his gut along with rush of anxiety as he stared at the viewscreen. In front of him Kovachek took a deep breath, straightened up and pulled his face into a mask of calm as if Lioss could somehow see his expression.

"We're getting MALP feed, sir," Walter said a moment later and pushed slightly away from the console so the others could see.

Night had fallen on the planet, and the images shimmered in the weak electric and torch light. There was movement, a flash of dark material, then the camera shifted, showing first a moonlit sky, then a familiar, hated face: Lioss.

Kovachek didn't hesitate, speaking first to take control of the negotiation. "Marshall Lioss. We have gathered much of. . . ."

"Silence!" Lioss practically screamed, cutting Kovachek off midsentence. Jack shook his head—the man seemed to have taken another step toward total breakdown. His face was red with anger, and spittle flew from his mouth. Worse, his skin and clothes were splattered with what looked an awful lot like blood, and Jack's anxiety increased tenfold as he considered what kind of injury could have caused it.

Kovachek began again, sounding for all the world as if he hadn't been interrupted, "Marshall Lioss, I don't believe. . . ."

"I said silence! You wished to see your Doctor Jackson. Here he is."

Jack leaned forward in anticipation. They'd done it. The Polistians had brought Daniel to the Gate. But the question was. . . . He tamped down hard on the horrific thought, brought on by the sight of all that blood, that Lioss was about to show them Daniel's mangled body.

Someone out of view of the MALP camera brought a torch closer as Lioss stepped away, revealing a partial figure twitching on the ground at the bottom of the screen. Before Hammond could give the order, Walter had the MALP tilt the camera down and zoom in. The figure was dressed in local garb and his face was turned away, but there was no doubt; it was unmistakably Daniel, and he was, unmistakably, alive.

Jack gave a brief nod to Hammond, who gave a tight-lipped nod back as a large man squatted by Daniel and, struggling to hang on to his jerking form, lifted him up and turned him toward the camera. His head hung down, but they could now hear an almost whispered moaning, a low, hoarse sound that kept cutting off and starting again. It hurt to hear it.

Then a meaty hand reached into view and pulled Daniel's head up by the hair.

_Son of a bitch._

Even knowing that Daniel had been beaten, even accepting that the poison was torturing him as they watched, it was a shock to see his face.

Kovachek put his hand over the mike as Carter gasped behind them and Teal'c let out a low growl. The major himself closed his eyes for a brief moment, but Jack, and Hammond beside him, continued to stare.

A large bruise covered one of Daniel's cheeks. Both eyes were blackened, and his lip was bloodied and swollen. A cut still bled from his scalp, and another stretched across the other cheek. And clearly visible, even in the flickering light, were the red and purple marks of fingerprints around his neck. His unfocused eyes bulged in pain, and his mouth was stretched in an awful grimace, and at first he didn't even seem to see the MALP in front of him, but then his vision seemed to clear and it looked like he was staring right at them. He opened his mouth wider to say something, but it was as if he couldn't form the words, and he instead raised his hand and reached toward the camera.

Without thinking, Jack leaned closer to the console, wanting to call to Daniel, tell him they were coming for him, but Kovachek kept his hand firmly in place on the mike and shook his head, their relative rank be damned. Hammond backed Kovachek up with a quiet, "Colonel," and Jack pulled away and then watched helplessly as Daniel's head suddenly jerked back so hard it slipped from the hand's grasp, and his body convulsed and a strangled shriek escaped him. "Oh, Daniel," Carter whispered behind them, and Jack suspected she was reliving her own nightmare as she watched.

Kovachek took his hand from the mike, his eyes hard with anger. But again speaking calmly, as if nothing were amiss, he started to say, "Dr. Jackson, we. . . ."

"Take him!" Lioss's voice ordered, cutting the major off once again, and the man who was still holding Daniel up started to drag him away.

"Follow them," Hammond ordered quietly, but before the MALP could swing around, Lioss stepped in front of the camera again, blocking Daniel and his captor from sight.

Walter turned toward the general, who sighed and nodded, and Walter raised the angle of the MALP again so they were looking in the Polistian leader's face.

Kovachek, knowing the urgency of getting the teams through the Gate while Daniel was still nearby, wasted no time on recriminations or threats: "Very well, Marshall. Now that we have seen that Dr. Jackson is still alive, we only require the antidote, and then we can begin to send some of the weapons you've asked for. Obviously. . . ."

"Yes, you will send the weapons," Lioss spat. "But first, we need something else from you if you wish to see your man ever again and if you wish to save both your people from unbearable agony and death."

"Something else?" Kovachek said, and waited. He looked a question back at Jack and Hammond, but both men shook their heads. They had no idea what the maniac would come up with now.

"Gate addresses. Isn't that what you call them? You will give us _Gate addresses_ of twenty worlds more primitive than ours, and you will do so immediately."

_Crap._

Kovachek opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. His frowned, and Jack could see the furious thought process going on behind his eyes. _String him along_, Jack urged silently. _We just need to get through the Gate._ While the pause seemed interminable to Jack, he knew only seconds had passed before Kovachek broke his silence. "Marshall Lioss," he said, "this is highly irregular. We had a deal."

Lioss began to sputter, but this time Kovachek cut him off, and, surprisingly, Lioss let him speak. "Hear me out, please. There may be some worlds we can give you—after all, we are not friends with them all—but I will have to check again with my superiors and we will have to review our options. In the meantime, in case you doubt our sincerity, we are prepared to bring you through several crates of weapons to show our good faith. We will do so immediately. In return, we hope you will send the antidote for Major Carter."

The people in the control room held their collective breath as they waited for Lioss to answer.

The madman stared stonily into the MALP camera for a full 30 seconds. Finally, he said, slowly, enunciating each word, his voice filled with venom, "Do you take me for an idiot?"

"Certainly, Marshall, you don't suspect that. . . ?" Kovachek began.

"Two hours."

"Two hours?"

"You will provide the Gate addresses in two hours. Provide those, and I will believe in your 'good faith.' Once we have investigated some of the worlds you have given us, we will take the weapons. And _then _you will have the antidote and Doctor Jackson. Fail to provide the Gate addresses, or should the addresses prove to be unsuitable, these negotiations will be at an end. Your Major Carter will die, and your Doctor Jackson . . . your Doctor Jackson will _not_ die."

Lioss smiled at that, a sick, frightening smile that left no doubt what he meant, left no doubt what _not dying_ would mean for Daniel.

"Two hours," he repeated, then started to turn away and stopped. He turned back slowly and smiled again. "And do not let my promise to _not _kill Dr. Jackson encourage you to attempt to come through the Great Circle. We will kill him if we must. And as added security, we have moved our youngest prisoners to the base of the Circle. They, of course, will die the instant the blue well erupts. . . . Take a look if you must."

He stepped back and gestured behind the MALP toward the Gate.

Hammond sighed. "Let's see it, Sergeant."

The MALP turned slowly, panning past the mostly deserted square, until it came upon a huddled group mere feet from the Gate. Children, not one of them more than ten years old. The oldest, a little girl, held an infant. Some of the little ones were crying, but most just sat silently, despair in their eyes.

"Marshall Lioss, this is hardly necessary. We. . . ."

"Two hours," Lioss's voice repeated from somewhere behind the camera. And then the event horizon blinked out.

There was dead silence in the control room as they all stared at the blank screen. "I'm sorry, sir" Kovachek said. "I should have handled that differently. I. . . .

"Nothing you could have said would have made a difference, Major," Hammond said, then he leaned forward and punched a button on the console: "Stand down, people," he ordered. "We have . . . " he hesitated, and Carter said, "An hour and 38 minutes," supplying the difference in time for the shorter Polistian day.

". . . .an hour and a half," Hammond continued.

Jack swallowed hard, the vision of a battered Daniel reaching his hand out to them replaying itself in his head. No, there was no way. . . . "No, sir," he said out loud.

"Colonel?" Hammond queried. He could feel the eyes of his teammates and the two Tok'ra on him. Walter and Kovachek kept their eyes forward.

"No, sir," Jack repeated. "We can't wait. Daniel's by the Gate; we have to go now."

"Colonel," Hammond said, "you can't be suggesting that we activate the Polistian Gate with those children sitting in front of it."

"Yes, sir," Jack said. Then, "No, sir." He rubbed his hand through his hair. "No, sir." Shame mixed with his frustration. What would Daniel think of him now? It didn't matter that he truly believed that those children would be killed by Lioss anyway. He could never have a hand in something like that. He knew it, and everyone in the room knew it. "I'm sorry, General."

A quiet voice intruded, and Jack realized it was Helmet-head's host speaking. "We may be able to help. I believe we know of the race Major Carter spoke of. . . ."

Jack couldn't help himself. His anger and frustration rose to the surface again, and he spun to face Jacob and his egg-head colleague. "Yes, you can help! You can get us a damn ship!"

"Jack," Jacob said, a reprimand in his tone that only aggravated him further. "I've told you already that the likelihood of an available ship. . . ."

"Hell, Jacob!" Jack said, pointing his finger as he spoke. "We went to Hell to bring you back, or have you forgotten that?"

"Colonel O'Neill!"

Jack spun again to face his CO, more angry words on lips, but years of military discipline and the enormous respect he had for the man in front of him came into play, and he held them back . . . just barely.

"Sir?" he ground out instead.

"In my office, Colonel!"

"Yes, sir."

Hammond then turned to Helmet-head. "I would like to hear what you have to say, Helemut. If you would all meet me in the briefing room in ten minutes, and we will discuss our options. . . ." He looked at Jack, anger still flashing in his eyes. " . . . This won't take long."

**bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb**

Sam felt sick to her stomach. She watched as Colonel O'Neill followed General Hammond out of the control room, then turned to Teal'c. "They tortured him," she said, failing to keep the accusatory tone out of her voice. It was obvious they'd known and not told her. "Not just with the poison; they. . . ."

"Yes," Teal'c replied.

"I don't understand. Why? For what?" How much worse could they have wanted his pain to be?

"They believed he would give them the addresses to other worlds which they now seek from us."

Sam almost gaped at Teal'c. Of course, that's why Lioss made his new demand. But how had Daniel. . . . How could he have withstood. . . ? She had been ready to die, and she hadn't. . . . _Oh, God, Daniel._

"Teal'c," she said, "We can't leave him like that. The colonel's right. We have to do something now."

She felt everyone looking at her—her father and Helemut, who'd been conversing quietly by the door; Sergeant Harriman, Kovachek—and knew she was sounding less than rational, but she didn't care. They didn't understand what the pain was like, couldn't know how even the prick of a needle had sent waves of agony through her, how she'd lain for hours feeling as if she were engulfed in flames. And Daniel? Daniel's suffering had to be. . . .

She turned to the others in the control room. "No, I don't mean activate the Gate on Polistia, but we have to find another way, and we have to do it now."

"Sam," her father interrupted.

"No, Dad, you don't understand. . . ."

"Sam," he said more insistently. "I think you should listen to what Helemut has to say."

Something in his tone stopped her. She knew she wasn't acting herself, knew that her urge to scream at him, scream at all of them, wouldn't help, would just result in her own trip to General Hammond's office, or worse, back to the infirmary. And if Helemut thought he could help, she knew they should listen. Sam took a deep breath, and nodded.

Her dad lowered his head, then looked up again and Selmak said, "Please tell them what you have told us, Helemut."

"I believe I know of the race Dr. Jackson referred to. . . . And I believe they may help."

**bbbbbbbbbbbbb**

Daniel didn't even bother trying to pull himself off the floor this time when they unbarred the door to his cell. Another shock of pain ran through him, starting in his gut and spreading outward to his limbs, and he let out a sob as his muscles spasmed. He was long past caring if they heard him cry; he was long past anything but hanging on until they came. If they came.

He'd been at the Stargate. They'd shown him the MALP. Had anyone seen him? Was anyone on the other side?

As if hearing his thoughts, the man who'd opened his cell came and squatted down on the muddy floor by Daniel's filthy, trembling form and said, "They won't negotiate, your friends. We thought they valued you more than that. They know what you suffer, yet they leave you here." The man made a tsk-ing sound, then mused, as if to himself, "Perhaps we should have kept the woman instead."

And then he left, barring the door behind him.

"Sam?" Daniel whispered as the man's words sank in. The fog cleared from his brain long enough to wonder if she was suffering as he was and to pray she wasn't, and wondered too who had entered his cell. Not Lioss, not Gahry, no Gahry was dead. Gahry was dead, wasn't he? Then someone else assigned to him, another minister of torture, some other. . . . Where was Jack? Was Jack watching him through the MALP? Was Jack dead, had he killed Jack . . . where. . . ? And a voice whispered in his ear, _Spare my children, please_, and the blood flew outward from the wounds as the swords, oh, god, oh, god. . . . Daniel's thoughts swirled back into the fog as the pain rose up and embraced him again, a thick gauze of agony wrapping itself about his skin, his heart, his every organ, his muscles contracting and releasing, his limbs jerking, back arching, gut clenching, almost without end now, the flames eating him from inside out.

_Jack?_


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Time became meaningless, thought impossible, hope lost. There was only the pain, a monster devouring him bit by bit. Minutes, hours, eons earlier he had begged in an unrecognizable, grating rasp, begged and pleaded for them to stop it, promising anything, anything if they would only end it, but they only laughed, and it never ended. It only grew.

The monster pulsed in his head, roared through his veins, screamed so loudly that if there were still the stomp of boots, the clanging of cell doors, the taunts of his captors, the cries of the tortured, he no longer knew it. And if there were still light and dark, still walls about him, he couldn't see them, for the monster had blinded him too, leaving only angry flashes of color and light, fluorescent patterns searing his retinas if he opened his eyes.

He was nothing; there was nothing. Only the monster.

Until, gradually, flitting around the edges of his consciousness, insinuating itself into the recesses of his brain, there was something else.

Voices.

Voices. And language, a clicking, sing-song, murmured sound, like pebbles tossed into a flowing brook. A dream language, and after how long he couldn't tell, dream movement too, soft, strange footsteps, his cell suddenly crowded, an audience to his torment.

And then suddenly the dream became real as the touching began, ice-cold fingers burning his flesh as surely as the fire within, turning and prodding, testing, and he tried to pull away, but he was still helpless in the monster's grip, and he could only cry out in his almost silent cry.

His body still jerked and convulsed. The icy hands grabbed his head to hold him still, and he felt metal against his lips and tasted a bitter liquid, and he clamped his mouth shut and tried to struggle against the vise grip, and the metal was pulled away, and the fluid voices rose and fell until one said, in a strange, forced English that was spoken, Daniel recognized even in his pain-induced stupor, through vocal cords alien to the human race: "Drink. It is the antidote."

Trust, though, was something lost with hope, a distant memory buried in the endless pain, and Daniel kept his teeth clenched and his lips tightly closed, but the hands gripped his jaw and forced his mouth open, and the first drops of the bitter drink were poured onto his tongue. Fear sent the roar of the blood screaming through his ears and he was once more not only blind but deaf, and the monster took him again, gnawing his organs, burning his flesh, twisting his limbs. . . .

Time passed. His body stopped its dance, the monster pulled in its claws, the burning receded, and before his conscious mind understood what was happening, exhaustion overcame him and he slid into unconsciousness, only to be woken again by the voices. A hand touched his arm and he flinched at the cold, but this time the cold didn't hurt, and that was almost as startling as the touch. There was still pain, in his hand, in his head, his throat, on his battered face and body, but. . . .

. . . . the monster, the poison, was . . . gone. He opened his eyes slowly, bracing himself for the burning and stabbing of the flashing lights, but that pain didn't come this time either, and instead of the searing colors, he saw, hovering above him, uncomfortably close, five or six blurred, warped faces. He blinked his eyes to clear them, wondering if he was hallucinating, but the vision still remained: Elongated humanoids (like Giacometti sculptures, he'd later think), grayish-blue or pale green in color, stood or stooped around him, staring silently back. Their limbs were skeletal, barely covered with flesh, and their eyelidless eyes, in contrast to the rest of their bodies, were small, almost square, their mouths a sideways oval. Daniel tamped down on the panic that gripped him, reminding himself that whatever else these beings intended, they had given him the antidote, but it was hard not to be afraid of something so . . . alien. He had a sense he had seen beings like this before, but his mind was still sluggish, his thoughts disjointed. Who were they? What was happening? Was he still captive?

Before he could ask, the alien beings began to speak to each other in their oddly beautiful language. Then one grasped his arm and said, in English, working its mouth around the strange syllables, "We must go," and started to pull him to his feet.

Daniel pulled back. "Where?" he tried to ask, but he managed only a croak, and the aliens pulled him upright and he stumbled with them toward the door of his cell.

"Where?" he tried again, and this time started coughing before any other sound escaped him. One of the pale green beings held a shiny black canister out to Daniel, and Daniel just stared at it, until the one holding his uninjured arm said, "Water."

Daniel reached for the canister, thinking inanely _In for a penny, in for a pound_, and tried not to consider what would happen if it wasn't water. Gray-blue released his arm, and Daniel grabbed the container and raised it to his lips and closed his eyes as the cool liquid slid down his raw throat. _Water, yes, water._

But too soon the canister was taken from his hand and they were pulling him forward again, out of his cell, into the long hallway. There was no sound except for the shuffling of their feet and the muted alien chatter of two of the beings behind him. The cells they passed were open and empty, except for one, where a nude body of an old man lay, staring vacantly at Daniel as he stumbled by.

They reached the end of the hall and someone swung the prison gate open, and they were in bright sunlight, so bright Daniel had to close his eyes, and he found his head was throbbing in beat with his broken hand, and he went to his knees, suddenly so weary he didn't think he could keep going. But his gray-blue escort pulled him up again, repeating, "We must go."

"Where?" Daniel asked, this time making himself heard. "Where are you taking me?"

One of the other beings took his other arm, ignoring his wince, and the two started forward again, leaving him no choice but to get his feet underneath him or be dragged. Without slowing their pace, gray-blue said, "We return you to your planet."

"Home?" Daniel said, not believing that could be what they meant. "You're taking me home? But how. . . ? His voice gave out again before he could ask. Did they have a ship? he wondered mutely. Were they going through the Stargate? And how could they possibly know the address? Did they expect him to tell them? He couldn't tell them. . . . Daniel tried to force his thoughts into some kind of order, but they continued to swirl in numb confusion.

The aliens on either side of him spoke to each other above his head, more pebbles sounding in the brook, but neither answered him. They left the prison grounds, and a small boy spied them and fled. Daniel looked around, still blinking against the bright sun, and saw that the street was eerily quiet, not a sole around once the boy disappeared.

They rounded the corner into the large square, and Daniel gaped at the sight before him, tripping over his own feet and causing his escort to stop. In the middle of the square, dozens and dozens of uniformed men in rigid formation were on their knees facing the Stargate, heads bowed, hands behind their backs. Maybe 30 more of the aliens surrounded them, odd silver weapons pointed in the soldiers' direction. Daniel flashed on the mural in the hall outside Lioss's office, and suddenly he knew who these aliens were. They were the victorious enemy of the centuries-old war, the Omaygee. Or, Daniel's mind automatically adjusted with hardly any conscious thought now that he'd heard the language, more likely the _O-ha-oma-ha-gayee_. Astoundingly, the creatures who had become myth to the Polistians had returned, just as many of the people had feared. Now all around the square, those civilians stood, men, women and children, hundreds of them, staring silently, some crying, some looking on grimly, most looking shell-shocked.

And in front of the captive soldiers, a long, sturdy frame had been erected, and tied to the frame were the bodies of maybe fifteen men and women. Daniel stared nearsightedly at the blurred figures. The ministers, he guessed, from their clothes, and in the center, unmistakably . . . Lioss.

_Dead. Lioss was dead._ _Lioss was dead._ Daniel had imagined this moment, even prayed for it, and he'd thought he'd feel joy, elation that justice had been served, or, short of that, anger that he'd been robbed of the chance to kill the man himself. But instead, he felt . . . nothing, only emptiness and exhaustion. _Lioss, and all the ministers, were dead_.

He felt himself being moved forward again, toward the Stargate. One way or the other, it looked as if he were going through, whether to Earth or somewhere else, whether to be smashed against the iris or to walk into the SGC or to be held in some other far-off world, he didn't know. He felt a flutter of fear then, not for his unknown fate, but for the fate of Jack, Teal'c and Sam. Had they survived? Would he return home only to find. . . ?

They walked around the captive soldiers and past the executed ministers. The portly figure of one of the ministers—who was it, Counseler Praga?—blocked his view of the others, a grimace of fear still frozen on the simpering man's waxy face. Daniel looked away and behind him as he heard the familiar sound of the symbols being pressed on the DHD, and he saw one of his pale green companions methodically putting in an address. The Gate began to turn, and sure enough, the symbols for Earth began to light up. He glanced back, again, at the kneeling men, and toward the front, only a couple of yards from where he stood, he noticed one man, bulkier and taller than those around him, staring back at him. Scarface. Their eyes locked for a few seconds, then Scarface looked down and away. Daniel wondered, suddenly, what was to become of all those men. Surely they wouldn't all be executed, would they?

He turned to the blue-gray being still holding his arm, the one who had done most of the talking—in English, anyway. "What is going to happen to them?" he asked, gesturing with his head toward the soldiers.

The alien turned and looked at the kneeling captives and back at Daniel. "They will be punished."

Daniel squeezed his eyes shut for a moment trying to sort his thoughts into some kind of order. "Some of them were forced to do what they did, though. They didn't all have a choice."

The alien paused as if trying to understand Daniel's words, then said, "It is the law."

"But how. . . ?" Daniel had started to ask when the event horizon shot out from the Gate, and the pale green alien on his left side grabbed his other arm, and he was moving forward again.

"Wait," Daniel said, suddenly certain they were unintentionally pulling him—and themselves—toward their death. "There's an iris . . . a-a barrier. We have to. . . ." But it was too late; they were already stepping through.

****

Jacob stood next to Helemut in the Gate room at the bottom of the ramp. George was a little behind him, and in the back of the room stood Jack, Teal'c and Sam. Near the doors Janet Fraiser and two nurses held onto a rolling stretcher. There were only two guards, in the far corners of the room, and they were the only ones armed.

_You are anxious_, Selmak said silently_._

_Of course I'm anxious_, he answered testily. _We helped Helemut convince George to have the Gate room virtually unguarded while we invited an almost unknown race with superior technology to come through to Earth._

_Helemut has explained that, Jacob_. _The Ohaomahagayee have become a paranoid, xenophobic race. They agreed to help only because adherence to the law is sacred to them, and even so, it took all of Helemut's persuasive powers to get them to trust that they could return Daniel to the SGC without being harmed. The light guard was part of the negotiation. We should not even have allowed SG-1 in the room._

_Allowed? _Jacob scoffed. _Do you think we could have kept them away? Jack would have eaten through the blast doors with his teeth if George had tried, and Teal'c and Sam would have been right behind him._

Selmak laughed. _He's not the only one, my friend. Your anxiety is not so much for Earth, but for Daniel Jackson. You are quite fond of the young man—as am I._

Jacob ignored Selmak as much as one could ignore a snake in his head (_I heard that_, Selmak said in mock anger). Anyway, damn straight he was worried. They had put off the Polistians not once but twice while waiting for Helemut to contact and negotiate with the Ohaomahagayee. In those five extra hours, anything could have happened.

Voicing out loud what he and Selmak had only been thinking, Jack blurted out from behind them, "Where are they? I thought you said these Omelet people would be here on time!"

"Steady, Colonel," George said, in that inimitable way of his.

"They will be here, Colonel O'Neill. I am quite certain," Helemut added.

"How can you be so sure? Something could have gone wrong. Maybe they're not as powerful as you think, maybe the damn Polistians. . . ."

Before Jack could finish the thought, the Gate began to spin. Jacob turned and waved him back, and Jack, who had walked forward as he ranted, scowled and stepped back to stand next to Sam and Teal'c, the tension and frustration radiating off him in waves. Jacob glanced at his daughter, trying to catch her eye, but she was staring straight ahead, biting her lip and clenching her fists so hard her knuckles were white, even against the unnatural paleness that belied her constant insistence that she was fine.

_She _will be_ fine. They all will_, Selmak soothed, and Jacob hoped to hell he was right. He took a step back himself to allow Helemut to stand alone in front, and they all waited.

The seventh chevron locked, and the event horizon lit up behind the iris. A high beeping sound, lasting barely a second, came through, like a sped-up Morse code, and Sergeant Harriman announced from the control room, "It's the agreed-upon signal, General."

"Go ahead, Walter."

The iris spun open, and Jacob found himself holding his breath. "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon," he heard Jack murmuring, probably unconsciously, behind him, and Jacob repeated the mantra in his own head. The horizon rippled, and a bony pale-green foot and leg appeared, and then three figures were before them at the top of the ramp.

Jacob released his breath, feeling more relieved than he'd ever admit. Standing between the strange blue and green Ohaomahagayee, looking shell-shocked, weak and battered but standing nevertheless, was Daniel Jackson, the man with more lives than a cat. Jacob watched as Daniel's blackened eyes took in Helemut, then himself and George, then widened in momentary panic before they settled on a point in the back of the room. Daniel squinted, blinked furiously, then seemed almost to sag in relief, and Jacob knew he'd seen his teammates.

Helemut held up his hand without looking back to remind them to stay where they were and to keep silent, then lowered it and took a single step forward. "Greetings," he said, in Goa'uld. "I am Helemut of the Tok'ra. We are honored by your presence and deeply in your debt for the service you have provided." He then spoke haltingly in a language neither Jacob nor Selmak had ever heard before, one that seemed to have more tones and clicks than actual words.

The Ohaomahagayee both bowed slightly, then, still holding fast to Daniel's arms, walked slowly down the ramp, heads pivoting back and forth as they tried to keep an eye on everyone in the room. Daniel sighed a bit, as if he were tired of being led, but came with them easily enough. Helemut stepped back, waiving Jacob and George back as well, so that plenty of floor space separated them from their visitors. When the three reached the bottom of the ramp, the aliens released Daniel's arms, and one said, in barely understandable English, "Our obligation is ended."

Daniel stood for a second as if uncertain what to do, took a step forward, shook his head and turned back. Bowing slightly as the Ohaomahagayee had done at the top of the ramp, he made a hum and a clicking sound, and then . . . all hell broke loose.

The Ohaomahagayee grabbed Daniel by his arms again, causing him to shout in pain, and started yanking him back up the ramp, all the time speaking loudly and rapidly in their own language. The other members of SG-1 started forward, yelling themselves, while George said, "What is the meaning of this?" Jacob looked from his friend the general to Jack, Sam and Teal'c and to the guards who had raised their weapons, and spun toward Helemut even as Selmak urged him to remain calm.

"Helemut?" he queried urgently, then let Selmak take over to talk to the Tok'ra he'd known for years. Selmak remained silent, however, as Helemut twisted toward the others in the room and said, "Please, you must remain calm. They are unarmed and have no where to go. Let me talk to them!"

"Stand down, people!" Hammond urged in response. "Colonel!" Selmak gave in to Jacob's urge to see what was happening behind them, and they looked back to see Jack frozen in indecision halfway across the room. "Colonel, Teal'c, Major," George said more quietly, as even the Ohaomahagayee had stopped talking at the cries of Helemut and the Earth general. Jack looked back at his teammates, then to his CO and up at Daniel. Jacob knew the man well enough by now to see that it was taking everything he had not to rush up the ramp and pummel the beings that had just made his teammate scream in pain. But once again the loyalty and respect George instilled in all his people had its effect, and Jack nodded and took two steps back.

Helemut, meanwhile, had started talking to the Ohaomahagayee in their own language. Both still held Daniel tightly by the arms, and he looked confusedly back and forth between them. The gray-blue one said something seemingly angrily, although it was hard for Jacob to tell, and Helemut shook his head and said, in Goa'uld, "I am sorry, I don't understand." The gray-blue one spoke again, this time more slowly, and for almost a full minute.

Finally Helemut looked at Daniel and said, "Dr. Jackson, they fear this is some sort of trap and wish to know how you know their language."

"What?" Daniel said, speaking for the first time, in a voice so hoarse it pained Jacob to hear it.

"I had told them that the people of Earth have never heard of their race and have no ulterior motives for this meeting. Given that claim, they do not understand how a citizen of Earth could know their language."

Daniel looked at him as if he were insane. "I don't," he said.

It was Helemut's turn to look confused. "You just thanked them in their language."

Daniel blinked at him. "I did?"

Sam gave a small giggle behind them as Jack murmured, "Jesus, Daniel," and Jacob himself was glad that Selmak had control because he too felt an overwhelming urge to laugh despite the seriousness of the situation. God, he really did love that boy.

"You did," Helemut confirmed.

The blue-gray Ohaomahagayee, who was evidently the spokesman, looked at Daniel and said in his strange-sounding English, "You deceive us. We freed you, yet you deceive us."

Daniel shook his head, looking overwhelmed and almost near tears. "No, no, I-I must have heard, I hear words and. . . ."

"Oh, for crying out loud," Jack spat out, "will someone just explain that he's a freaking genius, so Doc can get her hands on Daniel and everyone else can go home?"

Helemut's eyes widened as if he'd just had an epiphany, and he looked at Jacob. Selmak nodded, and said, "It is true. We have told you Dr. Jackson speaks well over twenty languages. His ability to learn and understand new tongues is, we believe, unparalleled in the galaxy."

Helemut began in English, "It is no deception," then switched again to the language of their "guests." He spoke for long enough that even Selmak began to get antsy, and Jacob had no doubt that his daughter, Jack and Teal'c, never mind Dr. Fraiser and George, must be practically jumping out of their collective skin. Daniel in the meantime was looking more and more pale and was starting to sway in his rescuers' grip.

Helemut stopped, finally, and the two Ohaomahagayee spoke in lowered voices to each other. Finally, the gray-blue one said in English, "We accept your explanation. We will depart immediately."

George, still standing a pace behind Jacob, sighed in relief, and said, "Very well. Please bring Dr. Jackson to the bottom of the ramp."

The Ohaomahagayee nodded, then walked—more quickly this time—down the ramp, Daniel in tow.

"Sergeant," George ordered, and the Gate began its spin. As hard as it was not to rush forward and grab Daniel, they all waited where they stood, in keeping with the agreement Helemut had made that no one would come near the members of the paranoid race. As the sixth chevron locked, the blue and green beings released Daniel's arms and turned toward the Gate. The seventh chevron locked, and the event horizon shot out, and the two walked up the ramp and disappeared into the wormhole without another word.

Daniel didn't watch his alien "friends" go or make a move farther into the room. Instead he just stood there as if to do anything else was more than he could fathom. Selmak started forward then, as did Janet and her nurses, George and of course his three teammates. But before any of them could get to him, his eyes closed and his knees began to buckle, and he crumpled slowly, almost gracefully, to the hard metal floor.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Thirteen hours later (but who was counting?), Daniel was in the passenger seat of Jack's truck, staring vacantly out the window. Jacob and Selmak had done their thing with the healing device—Jack tried not to think of the mangled, swollen fingers; the huge, blossoming bruises on Daniel's torso, arms and legs; the broken rib; the poorly healing cuts; the brutal strangle marks that were even more spectacular than when they'd first seen them—and then Janet had hooked her patient up to an IV, shot him full of something and let him sleep for ten hours. Daniel had barely said a word before, except to confirm to Jack and Teal'c, who wouldn't let it go, that Lioss and Gahry were dead, and he'd said barely a word since.

Jack, Teal'c and Carter had gathered around his bed while he slept, pretty much refusing to leave until Janet had ordered them to get some rest, and even then it took a look from Hammond to move them; Carter, always smarter than the rest of them, had commandeered the bed next to Daniel's, saying, no doubt truthfully, that she hadn't fully recovered from her own ordeal. Then she'd turned toward their sleeping teammate and done exactly what she'd been doing for the hours since her father had finished the process of piecing Daniel back together: stare at him silently with an unreadable expression on her face. Jack wished he knew exactly what was going on in that brilliant but way-too-complicated mind of hers. Earlier, while they were still waiting for the Tok'ra to let them know if the freaky aliens were going to help them, he'd started to apologize for the things he'd said to her in the infirmary. But Carter, looking at him straight in the eye for the first time since she'd been released, had all but cut him off: "You don't have to apologize, Colonel. You were right." Then she'd walked away.

Another time he would have called her on it, walking away like that from her CO, but of course he didn't. The thing was, he _knew _he was right, but not in the way she thought. He was right because he would have done anything, said anything to save her life. Yet Carter. . . . Hell if he knew exactly what she was thinking, but he suspected she had taken his words to heart, that she thought less of herself for choosing death over pointless agony, that she believed that _he_ thought less of her for it. But how could he? The way she'd screamed. . . .

_Jesus! _A blare of a horn and Daniel's confused-sounding, "Jack?" brought him back to the present, and he jerked the steering wheel to bring the truck back into their lane.

"Sorry," he said after a moment, his heart still going a thousand miles a minute.

"You O.K.?" Daniel asked, and the question was so absurd given the circumstances that Jack almost laughed. _Yeah, sure, you betchya_, he thought. _I'm __great_. _You? _But he only said, "Yeah, fine." Daniel didn't say anything else, and when Jack ventured a look out of the corner of his eye, he saw that his friend was again staring out the side window.

Jack sighed. He'd figure out what to do about Carter later. She, at least, was home now with Jacob. Daniel, on the other hand, was headed to his place to "be alone," which so did not sound like a good idea to Jack. Yet that's what Daniel had insisted on back in the infirmary after he'd woken up and fended off the dozens of people who seemed to be wandering in to either apologize to him or check on him or both: He wanted nothing more than to be in his own home, alone, with no one hovering. Hammond had understood his chief civilian's need to take even this small amount of control over his life and had agreed to put off the debrief till morning. Janet had been a harder sell, but even she, after a while, had relented. After all, his blood tests had come back negative for the poison, and Jacob had made sure all his _physical _ailments were healed; she really had no right to keep him against his will.

So, with a promise that Daniel would accept Jack's offer of a ride home, and another promise from Jack that he'd bring him back to the infirmary first thing in the morning, Janet had let Daniel go. But Jack had seen the worry in her eyes, and he shared it. Crap, it had barely been half a day since the guy'd been caught in a nightmare of torture and enduring pain that was . . . beyond endurance, and yet, thanks to the miracle of Goa'uld technology, here he was, walking, talking and ready to go home. Jack couldn't say it out loud—how could he?—but a part of him wished Jacob hadn't been there, that Daniel's injuries could have kept him safely drugged up in the infirmary for a few more days or a week.

Ah, who was he kidding? He knew probably better than anyone that a week wouldn't make dent in what Daniel had to deal with.

Jack sensed movement coming from the passenger seat and glanced that way again. Daniel was staring at his left hand, the one that had been so badly smashed, and slowly squeezing it open and shut.

"It still giving you trouble?" Jack asked, just to have something to say.

Daniel didn't look up. "What?"

"Your hand."

"What?" Daniel asked again, then noticed what he was doing and stopped. "No. No, it's fine."

"Good," Jack said.

Daniel nodded and turned to stare out the window and silence settled over the car once more. Jack grimaced. He knew it was normal—he could practically see the checklist of PTSD symptoms in his head—but a quiet Daniel was just . . . wrong.

"Jack?" Daniel said a moment later, and Jack wondered if his teammate had read his thoughts. He turned toward him hopefully before looking back at the road. "Yeah?"

"Did you know that the Solkin left a recording on their world thanking the SGC for relocating them?"

"Uhhh. . . ." Jack was nonplussed. What did the Solkin have to do with anything? That had been SG-3's mission; Daniel had never even been to the planet. "Uhh. . . ." he repeated stupidly, "no, no I don't think I knew that."

"It wasn't in SG-3's report?"

Jack thought back. He often pretended he didn't read reports, but the truth is, he took his responsibility as second in command of the SGC seriously, and he sooner or later read them all.

"No. I don't remember seeing that in the report. Why?"

Daniel just nodded, more to himself than at Jack, and turned back to the window.

_Okay._

Ten minutes out from Daniel's place, Jack decided that whether Daniel wanted to talk or not, there were a couple of things he wanted to get off his chest before he dropped him off. He knew himself well enough to realize that if he didn't say some of these things now, they might not get said.

"Daniel?"

Daniel didn't turn from the window. "What?"

"I wanted to thank you."

That was enough to make Daniel look in his direction. "Thank me?" he asked, clearly having no idea what Jack was talking about.

"For saving my life." Seeing that Daniel was still clueless, he continued, "If you hadn't sent the IDC when Lioss had me tossed through the Gate. . . ."

To his surprise, Daniel let out a short, mirthless laugh, and turned away again. He then mumbled something so quietly, Jack couldn't hear it. "What?" he asked.

Daniel still wouldn't look at him but said more loudly this time, "I thought I killed you."

"Come again?" Jack said.

"I thought I sent the wrong code. When you didn't. . . ." Daniel stopped midsentence.

"When we didn't come back for you," Jack said, completing Daniel's thought, and his stomach churned with the same regret, guilt and frustration he'd felt ever since the whole disaster began.

"I understand now why you couldn't, Jack."

Jack nodded. He'd told Daniel. Sam had told Daniel. Teal'c had told Daniel. No doubt Kovachek had told Daniel. . . .

"Anyway," he said, "you sent the right code, and you saved my life, so thank you."

Daniel looked directly at Jack and said, "You're welcome," then his eyes faltered and he turned back to the window.

Jack sighed again. Maybe it was the wrong time, maybe it was the right time, but he felt compelled somehow to continue.

"And I wanted to apologize," he said.

Daniel shook his head, but didn't turn around. "It's all right. I told you, I know you did everything you could."

_Which was nothing_, Jack thought for the hundredth time. Daniel was caught in an off-world hell, and he'd contributed exactly _nothing_ to getting him home. If it weren't for Carter's stubbornness and the lucky presence of Helmut-head, Daniel might still be on Polistia. Hell, truth be told, it was Daniel's own notes that led to his rescue, so really, Daniel had saved himself. But that wasn't the point he needed to make.

"No," he said. "I don't mean that, although I'm sorrier than you can know that we couldn't get you home sooner. I mean. . . ." Crap, this was even harder than he thought it would be.

Daniel finally turned toward him, waiting to hear whatever it was Jack had to say.

_Just spit it out, O'Neill_, he told himself. He stared forward at the tail lights of the car in front of them, unable to look Daniel in the face as he said it. "You were right from the beginning about the Polistians. If I had listened to you, if I had backed you up the way I should have, none of this would ever have happened."

He waited for Daniel to say something, anything. He wasn't sure what he was hoping for. Forgiveness? Denial?

Daniel didn't say a word.

Jack made himself look, but Daniel was still turned away, so he couldn't read his face.

"Daniel?"

"Stop the truck," Daniel grated out, his voice sounding all wrong.

"What?"

"Just please. . . ."

Jack slowed the truck and pulled over to the side of the road. He barely had time to put on the emergency brake before Daniel was out of the truck, on his knees, losing what little solid food he had in him. Jack glanced back for oncoming traffic, then flung open his own door and was around at the shoulder at Daniel's side, his hand on his back.

"Sorry," Daniel gasped. "Sorry. I don't know what. . . ." He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and straightened up, and Jack grabbed his arm to help him to his feet.

"It's all right. At least you didn't barf in my truck."

Daniel let out a real, albeit a short, laugh then. "There is that," he said.

Jack waited for Daniel to get back in, then walked back around to the driver's side. _Batting oh-for-two __in apologies_, he thought, remembering Carter's reaction earlier. He started the truck and decided to try one more time.

"Daniel, about what I said before. . . ."

Daniel closed his eyes. "Jack, you can't. . . . It's never going to. . . ." he started to say, then closed his mouth and slumped in his seat. "Could we please not do this now?" he pleaded, and Jack winced. _Not forgiven then_, he thought but said only, "Sure, not a problem."

They drove the last few minutes in silence.

Jack pulled up in front of Daniel's building and turned off the motor. "I'll come up," he said, and when his teammate didn't answer, he said, "Daniel?"

"Hmm?" Daniel murmured distractedly.

"We're here."

"Where?"

Jack raised his eyebrows, and Daniel glanced around and said, "Oh. Oh, right. Well, I'll just go on up then. Uh, thanks for the ride." He fumbled with his seat belt, releasing the clasp, and reached for the door.

"I'll come with you," Jack repeated.

"What? No, no, that's all right. I'm fine. I'll just. . . ." He stopped talking, his hand still on the door and sighed.

Jack waited a beat for Daniel to finish, then looked at his friend's dejected expression and nodded. "My place?" he asked.

Daniel dropped his hand from the door. "I'm sorry, I know I said. . . ."

"Not a problem, Daniel," he replied, turning the key in the ignition and pulling away from the curb. Daniel closed his eyes and leaned back into the seat, and they drove the rest of the way in silence.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

"I gave up," Sam said so softly that Jacob, even with his symbiote-enhanced senses, could barely hear her. She sat in the corner of the couch with her arms wrapped around her and her knees pulled up almost to her chest, looking more vulnerable than he'd seen her since she was a very little girl. He ached to see it. He leaned toward her, trying to get her to make eye contact with him, but she dipped her head and said, "I let the team down."

Jacob sighed internally. His brilliant, beautiful, stubborn daughter was always so hard on herself, even now, even after what she had gone through. "No one thinks that," he said.

Sam dipped her head even lower. "Colonel O'Neill does."

Jacob knew nothing could be farther from the truth. "Of course he doesn't, Sammy. He told me if you hadn't kept on them about finding a solution in Daniel's notes, Daniel might still be on that planet."

Sam shook her head. "That was only after he told me how selfish I was being, when I refused to take another dose of the poison. And he was right. I wasn't thinking of Daniel or anybody else. . . . I just wanted . . . ."

The anger that flared up in Jacob's chest took even him by surprise. The thought that anyone, never mind Jack O'Neill, would berate his daughter as she was being tortured was almost more than he could bear. "He what?" he said, interrupting her. "He said. . . .?"

Selmak's wry, internal smile stopped him midsentence. "How the hell is this funny?" he shot out silently, turning his anger from O'Neill to his symbiote. "How is there anything even close to funny here?"

"I'm sorry, Jacob. I know I promised to stay quiet, but you are an old soldier: You must know what O'Neill was doing."

"Yes, dammit, I do. He was. . . ." And suddenly Jacob _did_ know, and he was tempted to slap himself in the head.

He heard his daughter sigh. "Do you want me to leave you two alone?" she said tiredly.

Jacob winced and looked up guiltily. She'd apologized to Selmak as she said it, but she had asked to have just her dad here with her tonight, or to at least be able to pretend she did. That she had even asked, letting go of the soldier in her long enough to get it out, was more than enough evidence to Jacob of how wounded she was, how deeply shaken by her ordeal.

"I'm sorry, honey. . . ."

"It's all right, Dad," his daughter said. Then she was unwrapping her legs and standing up. "I'll just. . . ."

"No, wait, Sammy. Wait. You tell me. You're an officer. What do you do when a soldier in the field falls in exhaustion with the enemy on your tail? Do you sit down with him, have a little chat and tell him you understand?"

Sam, who had turned to walk away, stopped and looked back at him tiredly, and with some exasperation at the apparent non sequitur. But she answered anyway. "No, of course not. I pull him up and scream at him to get moving. I. . . ."

Jacob saw the light bulb go on behind her eyes before she stopped talking. She stepped backwards to the couch and sat down slowly.

"Oh," she said simply, then again, "Oh." She put her head in her hands and didn't say anything else.

"He just needed you to fight, Sam, that's all."

She nodded her head, still not looking up. "He must think I'm an idiot," came her muffled voice.

Jacob couldn't help but smile a little at that, the same way he always did when his little girl called herself or her ideas stupid, as she had so recently in the briefing room. He shushed Selmak's parallel thoughts and said only, "Sure he does, Sam. Jack O'Neill thinks Sam Carter is an idiot," purposely invoking the undignified, entirely-inappropriate-for-an-Air-Force-officer "dumb" game O'Neill was always playing.

It must have worked, because he saw his daughter's shoulders jerk, and he heard her snort into her hands. She looked up at him with a grateful smile on her face, and Jacob thought for the first time that maybe, just maybe she would be all right. "O.K.," she admitted, "maybe he doesn't think I'm an idiot. It's just that. . . ." Her smile faded and she slumped back in the couch.

Jacob winced as he saw the weight of the world again seem to settle on his daughter's shoulders.

"What, honey? It's just what?"

"It's just that. . . ." she repeated, then shook her head and grimaced, and he knew she was trying not to cry.

"Sam?"

Speaking again so quietly that he almost couldn't hear her, she got out, "It's just that . . . I always thought I was stronger than that."

Jacob shook his head. "No one is stronger than that, Sam," he said.

The tears welled in her eyes again, and this time she let them fall freely. "Daniel is," she said, not with envy or jealousy but only with sorrow that her friend's strength could have caused him to suffer so much.

Jacob pictured Daniel in the dirt on Polistia, reaching his hand out beseechingly toward the MALP camera. "Maybe," he said, sighing and sharing her sorrow. "Maybe."

But he didn't think so.

bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb

Jack glanced over his shoulder as Daniel walked into the kitchen, his hair still wet from his hour-long shower. Jack turned back toward the chicken soup he was stirring with studied nonchalance, pretending that he hadn't just run from outside the bathroom door when he heard the water finally turn off, that he hadn't been checking on his friend every five minutes for the last half hour.

"Hungry?" he asked.

"What?"

"Hungry?" Jack repeated, gesturing toward the pot.

"Not really. My stomach's still a little. . . ." Jack still wasn't looking, but he knew Daniel was moving his hand in a "so-so" gesture.

"I'll give you some anyway, or the doc will have my head."

"Yeah, sure, whatever."

"Great," Jack said, as if his friend had just enthusiastically accepted. He looked back at Daniel again. "What do you want to drink? I don't have much. . . ."

"Water's fine."

"That's it?"

"Yeah."

"At least you picked something I'm not going to run out of," Jack said, reaching for a glass, but rather than smile, Daniel flinched. It took Jack a moment to connect the dots, but when he did, he mentally kicked himself. Among the litany of the injuries and ailments Janet had mentioned, "dangerously dehydrated" was at the top of her list. Dehydration was one of the side-effects of the poison—they knew that from Carter's symptoms—and no doubt those bastards hadn't given Daniel so much as a sip of water.

"Sorry," he said. Daniel gave a small, forgiving smile."It may be a little while before I take water for granted," he admitted, and it was Jack's turn to say only, "Yeah." He remembered his time evading capture in the Iraqi desert, and how even worse than his injuries was the terrible, terrible thirst.

Jack filled the glass from the pitcher of cold water in the refrigerator and handed it to Daniel, and before the silence could stretch this time, he said, "Why don't you go in the living room and relax. Pick up a book or something. I'll be right in with the soup."

Daniel nodded, eyeing the glass of water, then looked up at Jack. This time Jack could almost see Daniel willfully pulling himself into the present. "Uh, thanks," he said. "I think I just want to . . . watch something stupid on television."

Jack couldn't help but grin. "Man after my own heart."

Any other time Daniel would probably have shot back something like, "Don't get used to it," but at this point Jack was satisfied to see another small smile. He nodded in the direction of the couch and the TV, and Daniel wandered over and sat down awkwardly, as if his muscles were stiff, then picked up the remote and started flipping through the channels. Jack, gave the soup another couple of stirs, got out two bowls and ladled the soup into them, pulled a box of crackers from the cabinet and put it all on a tray. He walked up behind Daniel and stared at the TV.

"I thought you said you wanted to watch something stupid," he said.

Daniel turned toward Jack.

"What?" he asked.

"I thought you said you wanted to watch something stupid," Jack repeated.

Daniel glanced at the television and back at Jack.

"I did," he said.

Jack sighed. "That's a documentary on ancient Mesopotamia."

Daniel turned toward the television and watched for a few seconds. "Well, it's a _stupid_ documentary on ancient Mesopotamia," he said.

Jack smiled. "Good save," he said, coming around the couch with the tray. "Still. . . ."

"All right, all right," Daniel said. "I forgot where I was. Give me the TV listings, and I'll find something stupider."

"Thank you," Jack deadpanned, wanting to keep the moment going, happier than he could admit to be bantering with his teammate for even a few seconds. "Today's paper's right there on top," he said, pointing to the two newspapers he'd dropped on the coffee table when they'd come in the door."

Daniel looked at the paper and shook his head. "That's Tuesday's paper," he said. "That's not going to help much." He picked up the paper, saw that Monday's was underneath, and dropped it back on the table.

"It _is _Tuesday, Daniel," Jack said, putting a bowl of soup in front of him, next to the papers.

Daniel smiled, obviously happy as well to be participating in their familiar routine. "It can't be Tuesday, Jack. The mission was at 0500 Monday, so. . . ." Daniel must have noticed the change in Jack's expression, because the smile dropped from his face.

"It's Tuesday?" he said.

Jack nodded and grimaced at the same time. "Seemed like longer to me, too," he said.

"So I was stuck there for, what, twenty four hours? A day?" Daniel's voice rose as he spoke, the shock and distress evident on his face.

"More like twenty five hours," Jack said. _But who was counting?_

Daniel rubbed his hand over his eyes and back through his hair. "So that's all it took," he said, not looking at Jack. "That's all it took for me to be . . . for them to. . . ."

Jack silently completed the thought. _. . . .to make you less than nothing, to strip away everything you believed you were, to make you wish you'd never been born. _It was suddenly all Jack could do to keep from putting his fist through a wall. That this could have happened to Daniel, and to Carter, that he could have let it happen. . . .

Jack unclenched his fists and made himself take a deep breath. Fortunately, Daniel was still looking away—he didn't need to deal with Jack's anger on top of everything else.

"Daniel. . . ." he started to say, struggling to find a way to explain it, to tell him that that's why torture exists, that there is only so much pain a human being can take, that no one is immune. That he understood, because it had happened to him.

"It's all right," Daniel said before Jack could continue. "I just have to figure it out."

_Figure it out? _Jack thought. _Figure it out? This is one thing that even you can't 'figure out.' _But he didn't say it. Daniel needed time to process what had happened, and Jack would try to give it to him. The shrinks would get involved soon enough. "All right," he said, speaking calmly despite his own emotions spiking all over the place. "Maybe for now just have some soup, O.K.?" Looking at Daniel's empty water glass, he added, "I'll get you some more water."

Daniel didn't say anything, and Jack gave his shoulder a squeeze and went into the kitchen. _One day_, he thought. _One hellish day, and Daniel and Carter will never be the same._ He remembered the look on Carter's face in the infirmary when she'd given up, and he wondered who was with Daniel when he'd done the same. Was Lioss there, laughing at him? Was he with other prisoners?

Was he alone?

Jack shook his head and felt the ache from his concussion returning, fighting its way through his last double dose of Tylenol. _Ach._ He hoped Teal'c at least was finally letting himself recover completely from his stab wound, that he was finally secure enough in the knowledge that his teammates were safe to let himself Kel'no'reem. Jack pulled the pitcher from the refrigerator, grabbed himself a glass, and carried them both back to the couch.

Daniel didn't seem to have moved at all, but when Jack sat down, he said, "Soup's good, thanks. I, uh, think there's a game on, or that doctor show or . . . something." His voice petered out, and the haunted look returned to his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said. "I probably should have just gone home. I—"

"I'm glad you're here, Daniel. You've got nothing to apologize for, all right? Just, just. . . ." _Just give yourself a break, please_, Jack wanted to say, or _Just stop, already. You think I need you to make small talk? _But instead he finished, "Just have another glass of water."

"Oh, right," Daniel said, noticing the pitcher for the first time. He blinked at it, but he didn't move to pick it up.

"You want me to pour?" Jack said.

Daniel looked at him quizzically, scrunching up his eyes as if he didn't understand the question, then looked back at the pitcher. "No, I've got it." He reached for it, stopped his hand halfway, then swallowed almost nervously before he grabbed the handle.

_What the hell is this? _Jack thought, as Daniel finally lifted the pitcher and began to pour the water into his glass. Then Daniel's hand started to shake, and water was spilling on the table and the floor, and Daniel was trying to put the pitcher down but couldn't seem to release his death grip on the handle even as his hand shook harder.

"Daniel?" Jack asked, forcing himself to keep his voice even. He grabbed Daniel's hand to steady it and prized the pitcher from his grasp, and Daniel put his hand to his head and started to rock back and forth where he sat.

"Oh, god, oh, god, oh, god, oh, god," he said.

"Daniel?" Jack got down on the floor in front of his friend and grabbed both of his shoulders. "Daniel, look at me. Daniel?"

"Oh, god, oh, god, oh, god, Jack, why couldn't I save them? I should have been able to save them!"

The anguish in Daniel's voice was like a stab wound to Jack's gut. _Oh, hell_, he thought. _What now? What else did those bastards do?_

"You were a prisoner," he started to say, not knowing what Daniel was talking about and not sure he really wanted to know. "How could you have. . . ?"

Daniel pushed Jack's hands from his shoulders and leaned back into the couch away from Jack's reach. "No, you don't understand!" he practically shouted. "He gave me the chance and I screwed it up and they died, Jack! I should have told him. I should have told him everything I fu**ing knew!" He put his palms to his eyes and started to rock back and forth again, and repeated, much more quietly, in almost a moan, "I should have told him."

Jack, still on his knees on the floor, stood up slowly and sat carefully on the couch, facing Daniel but not so close that he'd crowd him.

"You want to tell me what happened?" he asked.

Daniel stopped rocking. "No," he said with seeming finality, then, "I don't know." Jack waited, and after a long pause, Daniel began to talk, albeit haltingly, in fits and starts. He talked not about the poison and his own awful agony, not about his torture or his own fear and despair. He told of a family, a father, a grandmother, a girl and a boy, and how he tried to outsmart Lioss, to buy them some time, and how his plan ended in disaster. And how the family had paid the price for his failure.

Jack wanted to interrupt, to stop Daniel's self-flagellation, to tell him he had done everything humanly possible and more, but he stayed quiet and let Daniel finish.

". . . . So they killed them. They hacked them to bits, Jack! It was as if, as if they were nothing. There was so much blood, and pieces of, god, pieces of flesh. . . ." Daniel gave a long shuddering breath, his eyes wide with the horror of the memory. ". . . . And I. . . . And I didn't, I couldn't. . . ." Daniel stopped again and closed his eyes. "I killed them, Jack," he said after a moment, his voice barely above a whisper. "I killed them."

"No, Daniel," Jack said, hearing the pain in his own voice. Because as much as he wished to god he didn't, he understood all too well why Daniel said what he did. He knew all too well the agony of holding others lives in his hands and watching them die. And he knew that nothing he could say would help, but he had to try.

"You didn't kill them. It was Lioss. You know that. And picking the Solkin world was brilliant. It should have worked."

"But it didn't," Daniel said flatly.

"No, but you couldn't have known. It wasn't in the report. SG-3 didn't know about the recording."

"I should have just told them, given them the worlds they wanted." Daniel wouldn't meet Jack's eyes as he said it. "I had no right . . . no right to play Russian roulette with their lives like that."

Jack looked at Daniel steadily, willing his friend to meet his eyes. "Daniel, you couldn't let that murderous s.o.b. loose on other worlds. You knew that then; you know it now."

Daniel's head dropped farther, but he didn't answer, and Jack hoped he was getting through to him. But when Daniel looked up again, he looked even more miserable.

"After—" he started to say, but the word caught in his throat. He reached for his glass, then pulled his hand away and clenched his fist. "After, when the poison was. . . . When the pain got so much w—"

_Worse_, Jack thought, and he shuddered to think what that must have been like, but Daniel wouldn't say it, as if he had no right to talk about his own suffering.

". . . . I would have told him anything. I knew what he was; I'd seen what he'd done, but I would have told him _anything_ if only they'd just . . . end it." He gave a hopeless laugh. "But they stopped asking."

Jack nodded. He understood that, too. "You held out for as long as you could, Daniel, and it was long enough. That's what counts."

"Is it?" Daniel said bleakly.

"It is. I know it's hard to see it right now, but it is."

Daniel didn't answer, and Jack could almost feel his friend withdrawing into himself again.

"Daniel. . . ."

But Daniel was already pushing himself off the couch. "I'm pretty tired, Jack," he said. "I think I'll go get some sleep. Thanks for. . . ." He swept his hand over the table and the barely eaten soup.

"Daniel. . . ." Jack tried again.

"Really, Jack. I'm . . . fine."

Jack sighed, but decided to play it Daniel's way. Maybe it was enough for one night. "O.K.," he said. "Do you need anything?"

Daniel paused at that, as if the usually simple question of a guest, implying extra towels or a pair of slippers, deserved careful consideration.

_Do you need anything?_

"No," Daniel said after a moment. "Nothing."

"All right. Good night, then."

Daniel nodded, already miles away, and turned and walked toward hall and the guest room. Jack watched him go, listened for the door shutting, then slumped into the couch, suddenly so bone tired he wasn't sure he could get up again. He needed to call Carter, check on her and tell her Daniel was with him. And he needed to take something else for the pounding in his head and to finally get some sleep himself.

Still, he didn't move. He thought about the horror Daniel had witnessed—the horror he had lived—on that planet, and he thought about Carter's choosing death, and the defeated way she'd headed out of the base, and he knew it wasn't the memory of the physical pain that was tearing them apart, that would continue to eat at them for years to come. No. From that, their bodies and souls would recover.

But the rest of it? He shook his head, wishing it weren't true but knowing it was.

There were some wounds that never healed; there were some kinds of pain that never went away.

Jack sighed, leaned forward and reached for the phone. He longed for sleep, but he knew it wouldn't come easy that night or for many nights to come. His teammates were strong, but for now he'd have to be stronger.

—End—


End file.
